


To Be Human After All

by edibleflowers



Series: Werewolves of Lucis [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (and only in the first chapter), (don't worry it's not a lot), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Dynamics, Self-Lubrication, Shower Sex, training sequence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-01-30 19:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12659631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: "I wish I didn't have to go home," Prompto said.Even as Prompto and his pack grow closer, new problems arise within Insomnia, signaling threats on the horizon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's really frickin hard to do a summary when you haven't written that much of the fic yet. >.>
> 
> So yeah, this is finally happening. I need to thank arumattie, of course, for all of her helpful input, suggestions, and general cheerleading. Peach helped me hash out some ideas and the discord server has been a godsend for keeping the writing going. 
> 
> This will not be posted on any kind of regular schedule. I'm writing it, unofficially, for NaNo, and I'm barely keeping up as it is (picture Magneto putting down metal plates to walk on thin air, one coming from behind for each next step). When I have a clue where this is going, so will you. I do have plans, though. Mwahaha.

"I wish I didn't have to go home."

It's late in the morning, an easy, slow day after a night of heat for Prompto Argentum, omega of Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum's pack. Last night was the fifth such heat Prompto's gone through since deciding to become Noct's mate and omega to the pack; while he's become familiar with what to expect when he goes into heat, the depths of need he feels for his pack never cease to surprise him.

He loves being laid down and taking every one of them in turns or at the same time in some capacity; loves feeling each of them knotting hard inside him, loves the way they take such good care of him. It might be in a different way, but he also loves this time afterward: he sleeps hard and deep for several hours, and the rest of the day is always given over to relaxation and comfort.

"You don't have to," Noct says, absent. They're curled up together on the couch, some random documentary series on TV (Prompto likes this one, about a hunter who investigates all kinds of interesting and rare beasts out in the wilds of Duscae), while Ignis puts together a late lunch in the kitchen and Gladio is settled in the other chair, legs over the arm of it while he reads whatever novel's caught his fancy. "You can stay tonight too, if you want."

"I know." Prompto shakes his head. "That's not what I mean. I wish--" 

He stops himself, feeling like the words are somehow too childish, too self-indulgent to even speak aloud, but it's too late; Noct's scent has shifted to curiosity and there's no point trying to change the subject. Noct will just find a way to get it out of him, whether by innocent or not-so-innocent means.

"You can say it," Noct says, gently urging. "No one's gonna laugh at you, Prom."

Prompto sighs. "I know that, too." He pushes Noct back a little so that he can sit up, swinging his legs off the couch. While Gladio hasn't looked up from his book, nor has Ignis paused in whatever he's doing in the kitchen (something smells delicious, though: Prompto's werewolf senses pick out perfectly seasoned poultry and floury dumplings), he knows they're both paying keen attention. He appreciates the pretense, at least.

"I wish," he says finally, as Noct sits up next to him, shrugging off the throw that he'd dragged over both of them. "I wish we could all live together. I hate havin' to go back to my parents after the nights we spend together, you know? It feels like... like going back into hiding or something."

"That's fair," Noct says. He reaches for Prompto's hand; Prompto lets him lace their fingers together.

"I mean, I know we all have crazy schedules and everything. But I started lookin' for a full-time job so I could get my own place, and the more I think about it--" Prompto cuts himself off with a shrug. It feels weird, at least for a moment, to be confessing this to his three lovers, his three packmates, rather than just one person. Cultural habit, he reminds himself: when he was a kid, he expected to grow up, find a girlfriend, marry her and have kids. Instead, he found that he was gay, that he's a werewolf, and that he's in love with his best friend (and not a little in love with his best friend's Shield and future Royal Advisor, to boot). Not one bit of his life has turned out according to whatever passes for normal.

"The more I think about it," he goes on, giving Noct a weak smile, "the more I just want to live with my pack. I know, it's probably impossible, but that's what's been on my mind."

To his surprise, Noct doesn't look all that stunned by the idea. In fact, his eyes are distant and thoughtful. He glances over at Ignis, who raises an eyebrow at him in return (Ignis's glasses are whited out by the kitchen lights, making his expression impossible to read), then returns his gaze to Prompto.

"Actually," he says, "it's more possible than you think."

Prompto's eyebrows narrow in confusion. "What do you--?" he starts to ask. 

"Food's ready," Ignis calls, and Gladio sticks a bookmark in his novel and stands.

"Time for questions later," Gladio says. Obedient but still perplexed, Prompto follows his packmates over to the table to eat.

* * *

He does go home that afternoon, mostly only because he'd promised his mom he would. (Well, "promised": he'd left a note on the fridge to let her know. She's working a double shift at the hospital and his dad's out of town on a business trip.) Somehow, Prompto isn't really that surprised to open the door and find the house dark and empty.

Part of him wants to turn right around and go back to the Citadel. The Regalia might not have even be at the corner yet; Ignis and Noct only just dropped him off, with a sweet kiss from both before he got out of the car, to go with the parting kiss Gladio gave him before they departed. Instead, Prompto heads upstairs to drop off his bag, then comes back to the kitchen to make something for dinner.

He has no idea when his mom will be home (or even if; Sunday nights aren't usually bad in the ER where she works, but accidents are, by their nature, unpredictable), but he starts putting together something big enough for two anyway. He avoids the prepackaged dinners-in-a-box his mom tends to favor, finding garula chops in the fridge. Maybe it's having been around Ignis for several months now, but Prompto finds himself choosing a knife and butterflying the chops easily, taking down breadcrumbs and stirring together a breading mixture with some herbs from the cabinet. Cooking takes his mind off of things for a little while, anyway.

He's just sat down at the table with a plate and his phone, planning to continue the job search, when the front door opens and closes again. "Prompto?" a voice calls, and his mother appears in the entrance to the kitchen a moment later. "There you are. I didn't know if you'd be home tonight."

"I said I would," he says, and forestalls any further comment by asking, "How was work?"

"Busy," she says shortly. His mother is a short woman with black hair (like most Insomnians) and dark eyes. When she smiles, it lights up her whole face, as it does now. "That smells amazing, did you cook? I'm going to run upstairs and take a shower."

"Sure. I'll make up a plate for you." Prompto can't help but smile in return, and he bends his head for a quick kiss to the forehead, something they've done since long before he was taller than her. 

While she goes upstairs, Prompto takes out another plate and adds some more food to it: another of the chops, a vegetable mix he'd heated up from the freezer (he'd rather have fresh, but beggars can't be choosers and he wasn't about to go to the shops with the garula chops cooking) and rice, still steaming hot from the cooker. He's browsing a local news website for job listings when his mom comes back downstairs, freshly showered and in a comfortable shirt and sweatpants.

"So what are you looking at so intently there?" she asks.

Prompto shuts the phone down and sets it aside. "Trying to find a new job. You know, something more permanent than Electronics World."

"What for?" She gives him a surprisingly blank look. "I thought you liked working part time. That place isn't going under, is it?"

"Not today," he chuckles, though as it's nearly the last Electronics World left in all Insomnia, he suspects that prospect isn't far off. "No, uh, I was thinking about. About maybe... getting my own apartment?"

His mother gives no outward reaction beyond a glance toward him. "An apartment?" she echoes. "Is it getting that stifling living with your dad and me?"

"Of course not." Prompto's stomach knots; he has to struggle to finish the bite of veggies he'd just taken. He was hoping to be more prepared for this conversation. "But I'm gonna be twenty next month, and I feel like, you know, it's time to start living on my own, supporting myself. Learning to be a responsible adult and stuff." He winces at that; he was sounding pretty good right up until the tacked on 'and stuff' that made him sound twelve.

"I guess I don't understand why you want to do this now, all of a sudden," his mom says. "This seems kind of out of the blue. Is there a girl?" she asks, and Prompto nearly inhales an entire carrot slice.

While he's coughing and his mom's patting his back, he shakes his head. "It's not," he chokes out. "I'm fine." He drinks at least half of his water; his mom takes the glass to refill it, and he swallows repeatedly to make sure he doesn't have carrot lodged in his throat. _Fucking hells_ , he swears, but only internally: he'd never use such language around his mother.

"Better?" she asks after he's swallowed another few gulps of water. Prompto nods and wipes his eyes. "Seems like I hit a nerve there. You want to talk about it?"

The absolute last thing Prompto ever wants to do is talk about his romantic relationships with his mother. He and Noct have, to some extent, discussed this already: if it came up, they would say that Prompto was dating Noct only, leaving the others out of it. The true nature of their relationships -- and what they, themselves, are -- is not something Prompto feels his parents should know. Not only would it compromise Noct and the king, but it could have other ramifications. What if they question the true nature of the child they adopted eighteen years ago? 

Prompto knows his parents are baseline humans. Finding out he's a werewolf hasn't changed his feelings for them, and fortunately, it hasn't seemed to change their relationship, either.

"It's not a girl," he says after a long moment, and then lifts his eyes to his mother's. "It's Noct."

Elena Argentum looks back at Prompto with an absolutely blank stare for several nerve-wracking moments. Prompto can't breathe. _Say something_ , he pleads internally.

Her face transforms and she laughs, sudden and loud in the small kitchen. "Oh, Prompto, you had me going for a minute there!" She smacks the table, shaking her head and giggling. "Prince Noctis? The heir to the throne? That was a good--"

"It's true, Mom," he says. He's put down his glass, hands falling to his lap. Her laughter feels like a slap in the face. He's never lied to his parents, never had need to. Hells, they've barely been around for a large part of his life for the opportunity to come up. He'd never told either of them about his awareness of being into both men and women, as there never seemed to be a good time. Now, while he's glad it's out, he wonders if his mom will ever take him seriously again.

Her laughter gradually dies out as he continues to watch her. "Mom," he says, finally.

"That wasn't a joke," she says at last.

"I'm seeing Noct." Prompto's fingers pluck at a fold of fabric at his knee. He's going to worry a hole in his favorite jeans at this rate. "It's serious. Like, I really like him. A lot."

Elena takes a long sip of her tea, then sets the cup down, staring into it as if it's going to mystically conjure up the answers she wants. "You expect me to believe this," she says at last, without looking up at him.

Something opens up in Prompto, an empty, yawing void. "Mom," he repeats, helpless. "Please. I just want to--"

"I don't want to hear it," she says abruptly, and Prompto goes cold all over. "I need to think about this. Clean all this up. I'm going to go lay down."

"Mom," Prompto says. "I just--"

She pushes away from the table, chair legs scraping on the old, worn tile. "I won't repeat myself," she says, and then she's out of the room. A moment later, he hears his parents' bedroom door shut. It's not a slam, but it feels final.

Numb, Prompto gets up and begins putting away the leftovers.

* * *

In his room, he flops down on his bed and texts Noct to let him know about what just happened.

 _u need me to come rescue u?_ Noct texts back.

Prompto laughs a little, sniffs. _no im good. thx for being my knight in shining regalia tho_

_i mean it we'll come get u if there's a problem_

_im sure she's just processing all this_ , Prompto replies. _i never told them im bi and i think she doesn't believe im allowed to date u or something_

_ok well just let me know if u need me_

_i always need u bb_. Prompto adds a bunch of kissy emojis, and the smiles he receives in reply help to ease the cold feeling that had settled into his chest. In a way, he's glad: the truth is out in the open -- at least as much truth as can be out, anyway -- and the worst is over.

* * *

Prompto's startled awake the next morning by the heaviness of someone settling on his bed. He blinks up out of sleep to see his dad, looking bleary-eyed and exhausted.

"Dad," he says, pushing up on his elbows. "I thought you were gone for like another week."

"No, I got out of it early." His dad pushes a hand through his thinning hair and then holds out an arm; Prompto sits up so that he can lean in for a quick hug. Frank Argentum isn't big on physical contact, so Prompto tries to take advantage when he can; he squeezes his dad around the waist and then sits back, rubbing at his own heavy eyelids.

"You gonna get some time off this time?" he asks. Prompto knows that his father's job, which involves being an engineer of some kind for the government, often involves travel and long hours -- with, usually, a few days off after extended trips away. He's understood since he was young that his father wouldn't be around as often as other kids' dads might be, and he's grown to accept that. It doesn't mean he's ever stopped hoping to get to spend time with him.

Frank shakes his head, though, and newly-risen hope sinks in Prompto's chest again. _Then why is he here_ , he begins to wonder.

"Your mom called me and told me about what you two discussed yesterday," Frank says. He sounds weary.

Prompto blinks in complete confusion. "I -- uh. You didn't come home because of that, did you?"

His father is silent for long enough that that cold feeling of fear begins to creep into Prompto again. "Dad?" he asks.

"Look, I know I haven't been around and that I've missed a lot," Frank says. "I know you got to be friends with the prince and all that, and I'm not unhappy about that. It's a chance a lot of people don't get. You get to see that part of that world, it's a great opportunity."

He pauses, inhaling heavily. Prompto pushes back a little, getting his legs out from under the covers. For no apparent reason, he's overcome with the desire to just get up and run.

"Dad," he says instead. "What I told Mom, it's true."

Frank looks at him, his gaze so sudden and sharp it feels like Prompto's skin has been sliced open. "Do you even hear yourself? You can't _date_ the _prince_. Even if either of you had those kinds of feelings--"

"We _do_ ," Prompto says, swallowing hard. "I love him."

His father's face goes unexpectedly pale, as if Prompto's statement is unthinkable. "You don't know what you're saying. You--you're not even twenty years old, Prompto, you can't know--"

"You fell in love with Mom when you were in grade school," Prompto fires back, defensive and angry now. "You told me all the time when I was a kid. It was so romantic. You got her a plastic ring out of some gumball machine and promised her--"

"That's different." Frank stands up, and Prompto realizes for the first time that his father isn't a tall man. He always towered over Prompto in the past, but he's really not as big as Prompto's memory has made him out to be. "That's not the same thing at all."

"Why? Because I like boys as well as girls?" Prompto can feel himself shaking and wonders, again, why this was enough to bring his father home early from his trip. "Or is it because it's Noct?"

"You're staying in this room until you learn some manners," Frank says. His voice is like nothing Prompto's ever heard before. His father has never yelled at him once. ( _His father wasn't around enough to yell at him_ , his betraying mind supplies.)

Prompto stares at him. It takes a moment for his brain to process what he's heard. "You -- you can't _ground me_ ," he says. "I'm nineteen years old."

"I'm your father and I'll ground you whether you're nineteen or ninety," Frank says. He's out the door and gone before Prompto can get up. The scrape of a key in the door's lock chills him: Prompto didn't even think his door _could_ be locked from the outside, but when he goes to try it, the handle barely turns at all. Even turning the inner latch doesn't disturb the lock.

Prompto can get around a simple lock like this. That's not the point. His father has just locked him in his room as if he's a misbehaving child. Worse: even misbehaving children don't get locked up, or shouldn't, anyway. His parents are treating him like a criminal.

He finds himself yanking hard on the doorknob. He's shaking, and he wonders if that's what's making the door creak ominously. Then he realizes he's halfway to yanking the door out of its frame and lets go in shock. He's shaking all over, his pulse is racing, and he's sucking in huge gulps of air as if he just ran a marathon.

Stepping back from the door, Prompto turns to look at the window instead. It's only a small opening, the lower part of the glass opening out at an angle, but he can get the screen off easily enough; the only question, really, is whether he can fit through it.

Prompto swallows hard. Is he seriously thinking about this? About _running away_? Or is it really running away if one is over the age of majority anyway? After all, Prompto's legally an adult: he can vote, he can drive a car, he can rent an apartment and get a credit card. That's all semantics anyway. The thing that really startles him is the notion of walking out of his parents' house, the place where he grew up; the place full of so many memories.

The place where he stood by himself in the kitchen and made his own meals before he was even tall enough to reach the upper cabinets. The place where he checked his own homework because his parents weren't there to. The place where he determined to lose all his childhood weight. And did. And barely even got a comment for it.

Prompto's hands start working before his brain catches up, stuffing his laptop into his backpack, then rolling up the power cord and adding it. Clothes go in next: whatever's clean and close to hand. His chocobo plush that he's had since he was a baby. Cellphone charger. His favorite leather wristcuffs and a couple of bandanas. Camera in its bag, all the accessories tucked in and secured.

Heart pounding, he stares around the room. He doesn't care about the posters or trinkets; photographs he's taken can stay behind (he keeps the digital originals on his hard drive). A pile of magazines on his desk, scattered paperwork from his application to join the Crownsguard (sent in weeks ago, but Noct assured him the selection process was always slow), a couple of old school texts and notebooks. Nothing he'll miss.

Every part of him wants to just _go_. Even so, he feels as if he can't just leave without saying something. Indecision keeps him in place for a moment longer, and then he goes to the desk and finds a blank piece of paper.

He keeps the note short: _Mom and Dad, I'm sorry, but I'm an adult and I won't stay locked in my room like a kid who's been bad. Everything I said is true. I would never lie to you. I love you._

Leaving it there on his desk, he gets dressed hastily, stuffs his phone in his pocket, then goes to the window. It's a minute's work to remove the screen, which hasn't been taken off in years; once it's dealt with, he shoulders his backpack and slides the camera bag's strap over his head. The camera cost a month's paycheck; he's not letting anything happen to it.

There's one scary moment where he's halfway out the window and not sure how he's going to get down to the sidewalk below. His window has one of those fake balcony looking things, all but flat against the siding; he can grasp it, but he can't step down into it. Briefly hesitating, he decides to slide back inside and then goes out feet-first instead. That's better; he can put his feet on the ledge, then drop down so he's holding on with his hands. He pauses to close the window -- maybe it'll make his parents second-guess what's happened when they finally deign to check on him -- and then, swallowing hard, lets himself fall.

Maybe it's werewolf endurance or something, but he lands and rolls to his back with only a brief jolt of pain for his trouble. He pants as he pushes to his feet, wincing -- he'd scraped his hands on the balcony ledge, and they're skinned and raw now. But he's out, and he looks up at the window, then glances at the front door. He hasn't been spotted yet.

Prompto blinks hard against an unexpected stinging in his eyes and jogs away.

* * *

Five blocks later, the Regalia pulls up before him. Prompto climbs into the back seat and all but falls into Noct's arms.

"Hey," Noct says, tugging Prompto close. "Hey, it's OK, you're safe now."

From the front seat, Ignis and Gladio turn to glance back at their alpha and omega. "We coulda just gone in and gotten you, you know," Gladio says. "Wouldn't have been any trouble."

"I know." Prompto sniffs hard. He has to put his head down and close his eyes, focusing on breathing for a little while. He'd texted Noct once he was a good block away from the house, and even though he'd been brief, saying only that he was on his way over to Noct's apartment, Noct had replied that they were saddling up anyway. It's not even nine a.m., but Noct's here, awake, and holding him. Prompto almost wishes he could take a picture of this to show his parents. That thought makes his chest hurt again, and he swallows hard.

"What happened, anyway?" Gladio asks. He stretches a hand back, briefly petting Prompto's hair (still a ratty, bed-head-y mess).

Prompto pulls it in, tries to contain himself. "Mom. Last night, after I told her I wanted to move out, get my own place, she got really weird. I told her I was seeing Noct, and... I think she called my dad to get him to come home from his business trip. And when I told _him_ about it this morning, he said I was lying." That part still stings. He squeezes his eyes shut before going on. "And then he locked me in my room. Like, he said I was grounded. _Grounded_. As if I broke a window or failed a test or something."

Gladio grunts. "Son of a bitch."

"It's all right," Noctis says. "If you forgot anything, we'll go back and get it. Not you," he adds, as Prompto pushes up to look at him. "Your parents aren't going to disobey the prince of Lucis."

"No," Prompto gulps. "I don't want you going there. I have everything I need right here." He sniffs hard. Out of nowhere, Ignis produces a handkerchief and hands it back to Prompto, who squeezes his beta's hand in thanks before taking the cloth and blowing his nose. "Right here," he says, softer. "I have everything I need."

Noct's arms tighten around him, and he feels the warmth of Noct's lips in his messy hair. Somehow he manages to wipe his eyes and smile.

* * *

For the time being, they decide that Prompto will stay in Noct's apartment. It's not quite the same as living with his pack, but it's close enough: Ignis is over here for nearly all of his non-working hours, and Gladio just shrugs and says that he can swing by the apartment as easily as he can Noct's suite at the Citadel. The suite, of course, would be ideal, but there's a big difference between Prompto visiting there (even on the regular) and living there. 

"Even being a wolf, you'd still have to go through all kinds of security checks and safeguards to be approved to stay there," Noct says apologetically. "It's stupid, and I mean, you're my mate. You'll live there with me once I ascend the throne anyway."

"It's OK," Prompto's quick to reply. He's not quite ready for life in the Citadel, as much as he enjoys the luxury of it. Besides, Noct's apartment is nearly as well-equipped for his heats, even if there's no nice private garden to run around in when he feels like changing. "Anyway, I'll get a job, so it won't be like I'm mooching off you."

Noct laughs at that. "You know this place is kinda on the expensive side. You probably wouldn't be able to afford half the rent, like I'd charge you."

"Then I'll need my own money to live the lifestyle I'm accustomed to." Prompto sticks his nose in the air, then collapses against Noct with a laugh. They're on the couch in the apartment's main room, comfortably cuddled up together; Ignis had to run back to the Citadel for meetings, Gladio for training, leaving just the two of them alone. (As much as Prompto loves being around all of his pack, he has to admit he likes it when it's just him and Noctis, too. It's good to have private time with his mate.) "No, but for real," he goes on, "I don't wanna be, like, a kept man or something."

"You'll have the Crownsguard," Noct points out. "That'll give you a salary."

"Huh." Prompto hadn't thought of that -- he'd been aiming for the Crownsguard position for some time now, mostly because it would let him stay close to Noct. That was before he'd found out he was a werewolf and, in a shockingly short amount of time, had become Noct's mate as well as the omega of his pack. Even so, being in the Crownsguard would give him a legitimate excuse to be close to the prince and future King of Lucis, without any weird speculation. The salary hadn't really entered into his thinking, since at the time, he hadn't been thinking about moving out of his parents' house.

As his thoughts circle back to his parents and the morning's fiasco, Prompto closes his eyes and buries his face against Noct's shoulder until he can get his breathing under control again. The last thing he wants to do is have a panic attack, although at least he's somewhere safe where he doesn't have to be afraid of others' reactions. Noct knows him. 

"You know I can talk to them, if you don't want to," Noct says. 

Prompto can't quite keep a laugh from escaping. Sometimes, werewolf senses are fucking _eerie_.

"No, I don't, I don't want you to do that. Not right now, anyway," he says. He bites his lip and looks up at Noct again. "I mean, maybe, if they get weird about it. I was. I was going to try calling them later, when they've had a chance to calm down a bit."

"They haven't called you?"

Blinking, Prompto reaches for his phone, forgotten in his jeans. He'd left it muted and had somehow not felt it buzzing in his pocket, but when he takes it out, he sees a screen full of text messages and missed calls. He wonders how many voicemails there are. His hand starts shaking.

Noct takes the phone away from Prompto before he can unlock it. He tosses it behind himself so that Prompto can't reach for it. Somehow, Prompto's grateful.

"You don't have to talk to them unless you want to, Prom. You know that, right?"

Prompto bites his lip and nods. "Yeah. I guess. I mean, they _are_ my mom and dad still, I don't want to, to just cut them off."

"Yeah, but for right now, I think that might be better." Noct's hand smooths over Prompto's hair, soothing and gentle. "I can send them something to let them know you're fine. In fact, maybe I should," he goes on, and something in his scent shifts enough that Prompto pulls back to look up at him. While Noct's expression hasn't changed, his air has become more authoritative, determined. "They can't tell _me_ I'm lying, after all."

"But they don't know about -- about the werewolf stuff," Prompto says, concerned now. "I mean, as far as they know, you're gonna get married and have kids and, and carry on the line of the kings and all that."

It hadn't occurred to Prompto until just now, but it dawns on him suddenly how true that is. He may be Noct's mate, but Noct will still have to have children _somehow_. That's one thing Prompto and the rest of the pack can't do for him. 

His worry at the new thought filters into his scent, and Noct shakes his head and smiles, pressing a kiss to Prompto's temple. "I don't know how we'll deal with the heir thing, but we will. I know other kings in the past have had same-sex mates, and I mean, I'm here, so they worked around it somehow. But that's beside the point right now. Right now we're talking about your folks. And you're not gonna worry about them, OK? You're gonna let me and Gladio and Ignis deal with them if we need to."

Prompto swallows but nods; Noct's scent radiates reassurance now, intense enough to make his head swim. He buries his face into Noct's neck once more and lets himself stop thinking about things for the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

Noctis wakes early the next morning with plans. 

It's not like him to wake up early voluntarily; if there's one thing the future king of Lucis treasures above fishing, above almost anything else -- maybe even his pack -- it's his sleep. But last night was a restless one for him. He found himself blinking awake more than once while Prompto slept hard beside him, and eventually he got up long enough to send a brief text message to Ignis.

Ignis and Gladio arrive in the Regalia before dawn, while Prompto is still asleep. Gladio agreeably collapses into bed with Prompto, who, thankfully, only shifts and presses himself into Gladio's arms. Once Noctis is reassured that Prompto won't wake up, he dresses and heads down to the car with Ignis. There, Noctis sips the fresh-brewed Ebony Ignis brought over in a travel mug and nibbles at a breakfast sandwich to soothe his growling stomach.

"Have you thought of what you'll say?" Ignis asks, while they're stopped at a red light. Noctis shrugs and wipes crumbs from his mouth.

"Figured I'd wing it. I mean, I know what I want to ask, anyway."

"I'll be there if you need me." Ignis briefly rests a hand on Noctis's forearm, then removes it as the light turns green. At least at this time of morning, there's little traffic on the streets of Insomnia, so their trip along rain-slick streets is brief, and within a few minutes they've arrived at the Citadel. Ignis takes the Regalia straight to the secure underground parking; from there, it's just a short elevator ride to the private floor of the royal apartments.

Their timing is good; as Noctis enters the king's personal suite, Ignis on his heels, he finds the smells of breakfast filling the air. Regis Lucis Caelum and Clarus Amicitia sit together at the table snugged into a corner of the kitchen: the chef is absent now that food is on the table, so it's just the two of them, and they both look up in some mild surprise at their unexpected guests.

"Noct, Ignis," Regis says, greeting them with a nod. "You're just in time. Would you like something to eat?"

"Thanks, but I just wanted to talk. Is this all right?" Noct slides out a chair, while Ignis remains standing behind him, apparently still too conscious of class and status to relax in the presence of his king.

"Of course, son. What is it?" Regis nudges a cup closer; Noct reaches for the coffee urn and pours for himself.

"I don't know if you'll get a formal report or anything about this, but, uh, Prompto sort of unexpectedly moved in with me yesterday," Noct says. He gives his father a weak smile.

To Regis's credit, he doesn't so much as blink, though Clarus's eyebrows go up. "He did?" Regis asks. "What happened?"

"Uh, apparently he told his parents he was seeing me, and they weren't OK with it." Noct swallows.

"That's a bit of an understatement, if I may say so," Ignis puts in. "They attempted to imprison him in his room. We don't know if that was a reaction to learning of his orientation, or his relationship with Noctis, or both. In any case, he opted to escape, and we've decided the best place for him right now is in Noctis's apartment with him."

Regis nods slowly. "Understood." He glances over at Clarus, who only shrugs.

"I assume my son is with him now," Clarus says.

Noctis nods. "I don't want Prom alone right now, under the circumstances. But, uh, I also had a favor to ask," he goes on. "Well, a couple, maybe." Regis's eyebrows go up, but he only gestures: _go on_. "First of all, and I was going to ask about this anyway, but I was wondering if we could, um. If the manor's available."

"That shouldn't be a problem. I can have it cleaned and prepared for you, though you'll be expected to choose the furnishings and decorations." Regis takes a brief swallow of coffee. "And the other?"

Noctis swallows; behind him, Ignis steps closer, rests a hand on his shoulder. "It's Prompto. I know he's been vetted up one side and down the other, back when we started hanging out. And we still don't know how he got to Insomnia, or any of his werewolf genealogy."

"And?" Regis's expression doesn't alter, but Noct thinks he sees a flicker of concern in those faded blue eyes.

"The way he presented as latent was kind of strange, right? How he just jumped from latency to being active when he had his first heat? Ignis said most latent wolves need to be bitten for that to happen. And then there's this stuff with his parents. The way they had locks on his door already. He told me his mom called his dad to come home like a week early from this super important business trip, just because of Prompto telling her about our relationship. I feel like they know more than we thought they did."

When he falters, Ignis picks up, smoothly as if they'd practiced the conversation. "I've done my own investigation into Prompto's adoption, as much as possible, but the records simply disappear at a certain point. We'd need to do some more hands-on searching to learn more."

"You mean in Niflheim," Regis says.

"Out of the question." Clarus's voice is calm and level, but his scent betrays his distrust of the Niflheim Empire: understandable, given the way it's gobbled up land in the last several decades like candy. Tenebrae and Galahd fell some time back; it's poised to take Accordo next, despite the supposed treaties, and the threat of war hangs over Insomnia these days like a dark cloud, obscuring any hope of peace.

"It's not impossible," Noctis protests. "A few people could slip under the radar. Luna would help, as much as she can--"

"Ravus will ensure that does not happen," Clarus replies. "And you must know we cannot risk you, the heir to the throne of Lucis, under any circumstance."

"It's not an idle concern. Prompto's place in your pack means that he is a very prominent part of Lucis's future," Regis says. Noct lets out a breath; of course his father would understand how important this is, not just on a personal level. "I'm sure he's not programmed to betray you, but we should still assure ourselves of his lineage for your safety as well as that of your pack."

Clarus's scent still sparks with concern, but the tension eases a little as he sits back and drinks from his cup of tea. "It's something we must discuss," he says. "In length. An investigation like this cannot be handled lightly."

Noctis swallows. "I understand. Thank you."

"We'll talk later this week," Regis says in a gentle dismissal, and Noctis pushes his chair back, with brief nods to his father and Clarus. As they head for the door, he glances back to see Clarus taking Regis's hand, their words too soft even for werewolf hearing to pick up. (Not that he'd spy on his dad and the man who was practically a second father to him. That'd be a little too weird.)

* * *

Either Regis puts in a quiet word with someone or the Crownsguard application review finally kicks into gear, because within a week of Prompto moving into Noct's apartment, he receives word that his application has been received and approved. It's not the last step in the process of actually becoming a member of the Crownsguard, but it's a big step forward, and Prompto bounces a few times as he reads and re-reads the letter, printed on heavy cream-colored paper and hand-delivered by Ignis.

"It's handy we have your new address on file," is Ignis's wry comment, but he's smiling, too, as Prompto drops the letter to the counter and hugs him.

"Now you really gotta start getting your training program goin'," Gladio says from the couch. Prompto sags at that, and Ignis shakes his head and laughs, nudging Prompto backward so that he can continue his deliveries: reports for Noctis and some notes from Clarus for his son.

"Don't tell me I'm going to have to look like you." Prompto slouches over to the sofa and drapes himself across Gladio's lap, his head on Noct's thigh. Noct absently pats Prompto's hair, while Gladio takes a shameless grope of Prompto's ass.

"Obviously you don't," Gladio replies. "Look at Noct. Look at Iggy, he's a stringbean."

"A stringbean who can still match you blow for blow on the sparring ground," Ignis points out, having moved into the kitchen to inventory the refrigerator's contents. Now that Prompto's moved in, food seems to disappear more rapidly than before; Ignis is relieved to see that more of the greens are being eaten, at any rate. 

"I'm gonna have to learn to use weapons, too, huh?" Prompto sounds less than pleased about that.

Noct, paging through the report on top of the pile, pauses to smile down at his mate. "Yeah, well, being Crownsguard means you have to be able to defend me. And yourself. And the others, for that matter. That's kind of part of the job."

Prompto makes a thoughtful sound. "True," he says. "I guess I forgot about that part."

"Don't worry, babe." Gladio tucks the notes from his father into a pocket and reaches over to ruffle Prompto's hair. "We'll find somethin' that works for you."

"Speaking of something that works." Ignis turns to set down some items from the fridge on the counter -- he can do something with bacon and poultry and pasta, even if it won't be as nutritious as he would like -- and then begins to neatly tug off his gloves. He glances over, meeting Noct's eyes, and nods fractionally at him; Noct's return smile is so small it might not even be there, except that Ignis is all too familiar with his alpha's expressions. "I've started searching for a more appropriate place for our pack to reside, now that it's clear we need such a location."

Prompto twists on the couch, prompting a grunt from Gladio; he gives Ignis a wide-eyed, stunned look. "Really? Like, someplace for all of us?"

"Indeed." Ignis sets his gloves aside and briefly washes his hands under the sink's tap, then dries them off before reaching for a knife and cutting board to begin cutting up the meat. "It will take a little work, since the area must be secure enough for the prince to reside in--"

"I don't really care about that, Iggy, I told you," Noct drawls. "As long as there's room for all of us."

"You may not care, but I do," Ignis replies. "At any rate, the Crown's security is paramount. And it's not as if we can't afford something in the same general range as this." He gestures with the tip of the knife, indicating the apartment.

Prompto opens his mouth. "No," Noct says firmly. "You don't have to worry about contributing, and I don't want to hear about it." Prompto's mouth closes again, and he lets his head rest back against Noct's belly, a bemused look crossing his face.

"At any rate, it will take some time to find the ideal location. In the meantime, the current arrangement seems to be working well," Ignis goes on.

"Can't say I'm not looking forward to having a place that's all ours," Gladio puts in. His hands are on Prompto's legs now, absently stroking from knee to ankle.

Prompto goes a little red. "You guys," he says. "I hope this isn't just 'cause I said that the one time."

Noct gives Prompto a fond smile. "It pretty much is," he confirms, just to see Prompto's blush deepen in hue. "But it's not like we hadn't been thinking about it anyway. You just sort of said what we all felt. And a pack _should_ stay together, right? Even though we all have our stuff we gotta do, having our own place to come home to is important for pack bonding."

"Besides," Gladio adds, "what the omega wants, the omega gets."

Prompto grins at that, his eyes suddenly flashing. "Does that mean I can ask for _anything_?"

"You can _ask_ ," Noct says, and digs his fingers into Prompto's side. Gladio goes for the sensitive skin behind Prompto's knees, Prompto explodes with laughter, and the conversation is forgotten. 

From his vantage point in the kitchen, Ignis looks on, dicing the meat with precise, trained movements. Prompto may want a home for his pack, but in many ways they already have one: Prompto himself. Ignis, Gladio and Noctis have certainly spent more time together since their omega became part of their pack, and it's brought them all closer together, in more ways than one. Whether Prompto was conscious of the implications behind his request or not, it hardly matters: the results do.

(Ignis thinks about the King's personal pack, sometimes. These days, it's down to three: Regis, Clarus, and Cor. They don't have an omega, haven't since Aulea died while Noctis was still very young. It's probably a miracle the pack survived at all. Cid left a decade before that, though Ignis has never found the right time or situation to ask why. He may never have the chance. That's all right; it's more idle curiosity than anything that makes him wonder, and he wouldn't want to be accused of prurience. It's the same reason he's never questioned why the king never took another omega. In any case, Ignis hopes that the bonds his pack are forming will keep them together for as long as the future holds.)

Prompto's laughter fills his ears as he turns to start the water for the pasta. More immediate concerns take up his attention now, and he dismisses thoughts of the far-flung future to focus on getting dinner ready for the four of them.

* * *

Three weeks go by in the blink of an eye. Prompto's taken to keeping track of his monthly schedule based on the moon's cycle, and he understands now why girls in school would make notes on their calendars or moan when big events fell on certain days. Though his anticipation is rather different than theirs, being slave to the moon's rise and fall has changed his way of planning his time -- insofar as he never bothered to keep track of anything before. Now, he knows almost without having to think about it when the full moon will be, not to mention the new moon that drives him to provide for his pack before sapping his energy as if the moon requires it from him to return.

Ignis asked him what sort of things he'd like for the new apartment (or house; he's looking at those as well, though it seems less likely a possibility). Aside from a big master bedroom and pack bedroom, the only other thing Prompto could think of that he wanted was a big kitchen. (And maybe a den room of some kind, if for some reason he felt the need to tuck himself into hiding, but he figured they could improvise that from an existing closet or something.) He doesn't need a dark room, since all his photography is digital, and he prefers spending time with his pack, so as long as there's plenty of space for all of them, he figures he'll be happy.

Ignis begins coming up with listings. He's so professional about it that Prompto suspects the man went and got a realtor's license behind his back or something. (Maybe he did. You never know what kind of things the King of Lucis might need.) Prompto eagerly asks if they can go around and see some of them; he has the time, since they haven't started on training for his Crownsguard exams yet and won't until after his heat. The week before said heat is set aside, then, for apartment-hunting.

Prompto's excited as he gets into the Star of Lucis with Ignis that first day. It feels special somehow, like a date: they don't usually take Noct's car since it's smaller than the Regalia, not as well-suited to Gladio's long legs. 

"I thought you were going to bring your camera," Ignis observes as he starts the car. 

Prompto shrugs. "I don't think I'm going to be getting artsy with these pictures, and my phone's easier for keepin' quick pictures on hand. If we come back and look at some place a second time, then maybe, yeah."

"That makes a certain degree of sense, yes. And if you fall in love with one of these flats the first time we see it?"

"Then I'll have plenty of time to take pictures." Prompto gives Ignis a grin and finishes buckling his seatbelt. While he's looking forward to getting his own driver's license, for now he's happy to enjoy Ignis's chauffeur services.

His excitement lasts until they arrive at the first location. Looking up at the grungy building before them, Prompto wrinkles his nose and then glances over at Ignis. "Are you sure this is the place?" he asks.

"This is the address, according to my GPS." Ignis shrugs and undoes his belt, so Prompto follows suit. 

Inside the building, the lobby reeks of some unpleasant aroma. Prompto thinks it probably wouldn't be so bad if not for his werewolf senses, but he has a sneaking suspicion the place probably reeks of stale cigarette smoke and dried urine to baseline humans as well. He glances back out through the front doors to where the Star of Lucis is parked and hopes they won't come back to find it stripped and standing on concrete blocks.

The landlord, an older, potbellied man, scratches his belly through his thin undershirt as he shows them into the apartment for rent. Even before they step inside, Prompto knows he's going to be underwhelmed; he has to fight to keep from making a face as he looks around at the dingy carpet ("Just replaced it," the landlord says, lying to their faces), the small rooms, the tiny galley kitchen.

"Thank you very much, but I think we'll keep looking," Ignis says, leaving the man to grumble after them as they head for the elevator. Prompto manages to keep his composure until they're moving downwards, and then he groans and looks over at Ignis.

"Please tell me the other places are better than this," he begs, sagging against the wall of the elevator cab.

Ignis gives him the most unreadable look. Prompto can't even tell by his scent what Ignis is thinking (though that may be due to the fact that the elevator smells strongly of vinegar). "Hopefully," is all Ignis says, in a delicate tone, and then they're moving again. 

Thankfully, the car is still intact, and Prompto closes his eyes as he settles into his seat again. He's suddenly feeling a lot less enthusiastic about apartment hunting now.

The next apartment is better in terms of cleanliness, and it's a nice building, but it's still smaller than Noct's current place. As they're leaving, Prompto glances over at Ignis. "Are you sure about some of these?" he asks.

"Well, it's not easy finding an apartment with three bedrooms in the city proper," Ignis replies. "And houses are even rarer. We may have to compromise on space, but we _are_ a pack; we should be able to handle being physically close."

"Sure, but only one bathroom?" Prompto shakes his head as he gets into the car again. "You and I both know we're not gonna survive with just one, especially with the showers Gladio takes. He'll use up all the hot water before anyone else even gets to it."

Ignis allows himself a snicker, shaking his head briefly. "That is a fair point," he admits. "Well, let us continue our search. I have a suspicion this next one won't be much better, but we can at least look at it."

The next apartment isn't much better; slightly larger, but still only one bathroom and a far-too-small kitchen. By the time they reach the next place, this one a large house that's been divided into smaller units, Prompto's beginning to think he's hoped for too much. The house has character, at least, unlike the tidy blandness of some of the previous places. Inside isn't much better, though, and Ignis begins sneezing the moment they walk into the door.

"I'm so sorry," the owner says, as Ignis whips out a handkerchief and applies it liberally. "The former owner had cats."

"How many?" Ignis manages around the wadded fabric held to his nose. 

"Er, five. We've had the apartment cleaned--"

"I'll just wait outside, shall I?" Ignis says, before another explosive sneeze nearly propels him back into the hallway.

Prompto barely gives the apartment a once-over after that. If Ignis's allergy is triggered that strongly by the remaining cat dander (Prompto can smell it, but at least it doesn't affect him), there's no point in even considering it -- even though the bedrooms are decent-sized and the kitchen actually offers an island.

Outside, Ignis breathes in the fresh air for a minute before they get back into the car. "Shame about that one," he says, starting up the ignition. "It seemed quite lovely."

"Nice area, too," Prompto says. They're in an unfamiliar part of town, where the larger houses are maintained well, lawns are landscaped, and elegant fences hold the world at bay. "I wouldn't mind livin' around _here_ , that's for sure."

"Oh?" Ignis's eyebrow arches. "Well, we have one more stop to make before we call it a day."

"I'm game," Prompto agrees, though privately, he's kind of getting tired. At this point he's looking forward to getting back to Noct's place and collapsing. He really was looking forward to finding a place, but he didn't think just driving around and checking out apartments would be so draining. 

Ignis glances over at him with a sympathetic smile, resting a gloved hand on Prompto's arm. "I know you were hoping to find something today. I wish I could tell you it was that easy, but it rarely is."

Prompto shrugs, then gives Ignis a smile of his own. "Yeah, I think I wasn't really looking at it realistically. Who finds the perfect place on the first day of looking, right?"

"The odds are low," Ignis says, but there's an odd amusement to his scent that Prompto can't quite figure out. Before he can ask, though, Ignis is pulling the car out of its parking spot, and Prompto shrugs and goes back to texting Noct with the update that there is no news.

 _heading home?_ Noct's text reads.

_not yet, we got one more place to see_

_ok. see you soon_ , Noct replies. Prompto smiles: it's not like he can really be that upset about going home to Noct's, when his mate will be there waiting for him.

To Prompto's confusion, Ignis doesn't take them back to the highway. Instead, he makes a turn down a different side street. It must be a shortcut, Prompto thinks; that's the only explanation for why they're driving past houses that are even larger and further apart from each other and the road. In a city where space is at a premium, huge lots like this speak to understated wealth: old money, as carefully tended as the green spaces on which the edifices stand.

The car takes an unexpected turn and pulls into a well-concealed driveway with a gate that opens seemingly by itself as they approach. The ride is just a little bumpier here, as the car makes its way down an old cobbled drive, and Prompto opens his mouth only to be jolted into silence again as they hit a slightly larger bump (at which Ignis frowns). 

"Must make a note of that," Ignis mutters, the way he'd point out that Noctis's good shoes needed shining or a button needed to be sewed on.

"Ignis," Prompto says cautiously. "Where are we?"

"Oh, I thought we'd take a look at something a little larger." Ignis's voice is just a little too breezy, but the tone only adds to Prompto's confusion. "I know this isn't what you were thinking of, but I was hoping it might give us some ideas." He pulls the Star of Lucis up in front of a large garage with three separate doors, kills the engine, and unbuckles his seatbelt. "Shall we?"

Prompto looks up at the house in front of them, then, and his hands go cold on the latch of his own seatbelt. The house -- fuck, it's not a house, it's a goddamn palace -- is at least three stories, all dark weathered wood and brick. From here, he can glimpse a patio in the back, as well as an upper deck that must open out from some ridiculously huge bedroom.

"This is way more than we need," Prompto says.

"Come along, Prompto," Ignis says. Somehow, Prompto manages to finish unbuckling his seatbelt and gets out of the car. He feels underdressed to even be standing in front of this place, but he trails after Ignis, who's already heading up to the massive front doors, carved out of rich golden wood.

"There's no landlord," Prompto points out.

"It's all right. I've borrowed the keys." Ignis holds up a keyring and smiles benignly; Prompto can only blink at him. "You'd be surprised what sort of authority the future king's chief advisor can have when necessary."

Something very weird is going on, but Prompto lets Ignis unlock the front door and lead him into a huge foyer. Though the place is clearly enormous, there's also something homey and inviting about it. It might be the warm dark hardwood flooring or the curling staircase all but begging one to head upstairs. One opening from the hall leads into a parlor of some kind, with couches and a fireplace; the other, to a surprisingly casual dining room that leads back to the kind of kitchen Prompto's only used to seeing in catalogs.

"This place is too much," Prompto breathes, running his fingers over the enormous granite-topped island taking up the kitchen's central space. 

"There's more to see," Ignis says, and Prompto goes after him, barely sparing a moment to glance out to the back patio. A wide wooden deck descends to private gardens: a place where a wolf could roam and run free, if he wanted. Swallowing, Prompto goes to the stairs.

He doesn't notice the familiar scents until he reaches the second floor; he blames the house for distracting him. At the top stair, he stops, shaking his head and looking at Ignis.

"What?" Ignis asks, and now his utter innocence is simply too much.

"You guys," Prompto says. He sits down hard on the step.

In an instant, Ignis is beside him, and then Noctis's scent wraps around him, Gladio's joining it a moment later, as his pack surrounds him. Prompto struggles against the urge to cry, but the tears overwhelm him and he pushes his face into Noct's favorite shirt.

"You _guys_ ," he wails. "What is this place, what, what _is_ it."

"It's home," Noct says. "It's our home."

* * *

After a while, Prompto manages to calm down. They all sit together in the master bedroom, where Noct and Gladio had been waiting for Ignis and Prompto, while Noct explains that the manor house has been in the Caelum family for several generations now.

"One of the kings wanted a place for his son's pack to live together. The king wasn't old enough yet to start thinking about retiring, but his son had formed their pack, and so they decided to get this house. Or build it, rather. Back then this area was still under development, so no one wondered about another house going up."

"My family's manor is near here, too," Gladio points out. "And some other royal servants who've been part of the Council for generations."

"Dad never used it," Noct adds, "because he had to become King before he'd brought his whole pack together. So it's been sitting here with no one in it for a while. But when you said you wanted us all to live together--"

Prompto hiccups and then laughs. " _Fuck_ , Noct. If I'd had any idea this is what you had in mind--"

"We wanted to surprise you," Ignis puts in. "For your birthday."

Prompto blinks waterlogged lashes at Ignis.

"Happy birthday," Gladio says.

"My birthday's not until -- oh," Prompto cuts himself off. He hadn't even realized that his birthday is the day of the full moon. This year, he'll be in heat when he turns a year older. He'll have his heat here, in this house.

"Oh," he says again, and starts to laugh even as his eyes sting with new tears. "You _guys_."

* * *

Once he's finally in control of his emotions (which involved, unsurprisingly, laying on the bed with his face buried in Noct's shirt, while Gladio and Ignis piled themselves on either side of them), they do a proper tour of the house; this time, though, they start on the top floor. The entire floor is basically an apartment of its own, with a huge bedroom which will clearly be the pack bedroom, a sitting area, and a den room equipped for heats much as the one at the Citadel is: small and cozy, with its own minifridge and blankets that are either new or have been assiduously cleaned of any previous owners' scents.

The second floor is home to the master bedroom, a lavish space that seems to be as big as his parents' entire house with room to spare; Prompto already can't wait to try out the enormous jacuzzi tub in the en suite bathroom. Two more bedrooms fill out the floor, along with a lounge space with cozy couches arranged in a U-shape facing the biggest flat-screen TV Prompto's ever seen. 

"It's like the ultimate bachelor pad," Prompto says, and behind him, Ignis stifles a laugh.

He takes a longer, slower look around the kitchen when they reach the bottom floor. Now that he knows that this space is theirs, he sees the individual touches the other three have already added: familiar pots and pans hang on a wall rack beside shallow shelves set out with picture frames. (When Prompto steps closer, he sees that the photos have a theme: they're all of the four of them, and they were all taken by him. His throat closes up again, but he manages to blink away any stray tears.) Ignis's favorite knives rest in their storage block, awaiting use, while a poster artistically showcasing the Cup Noodle logo has been framed and hung over the breakfast nook (where cushions, embroidered in black and silver with the Caelum crest, line the benches). The dining room, he realizes, is so casual because, for the most part, it'll be the four of them using it. It doesn't need to be fancy.

"It already feels like home," Prompto says around the lump that won't leave his throat.

"Good, 'cause all your clothes and stuff are already here," Noctis says, and comes up behind him to slip his arms around Prompto's waist. Prompto swallows hard and covers Noct's arms with his own. "What do you say we make this official and christen the place?"

"Perhaps Prompto would like to freshen up first?" Ignis suggests, ever the soul of tact. "We have had quite a long day, after all, and it might be a good time to test the water pressure."

"Only if Noct comes with me." Prompto turns in the loop of Noct's arms to face his mate. "This place is so big, I'm afraid I might get lost."

"By all means," Noct purrs. Prompto's pretty sure he can _hear_ Gladio's eyes rolling, but somehow he can't do anything but lean in and kiss Noct.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling into the new house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the fic earns its rating.

At first, when he'd realized that this house was theirs, Prompto had thought it might be nice to have his and Noct's bedroom on the top floor. A whole level all to themselves sounded both fancy and comfortingly private. As he climbs the stairs to the second floor, though, he's starting to be glad he only has the one flight between himself and comfort. At the end of the day, all those stairs would be disheartening at best, and when he thinks of how tired he'll be after days of Crownsguard training, he can't help a groan.

"What is it?" Noct asks, from behind him.

"Nothing," Prompto says, though he laughs. "I'm already gettin' tired of stairs, though."

Noctis laughs and catches up to Prompto at the landing of the second floor, wrapping his arms around Prompto's waist again. "You did all that running in school, you oughta have tons of stamina," he snickers in Prompto's ear.

"Stop!" Prompto giggles, trying to push Noct's arms away unsuccessfully. "You dork! That was running, it's different."

"Whatever, you lightweight," Noct teases, but he lets Prompto go and heads into the bedroom with him.

The bathroom is like something out of an interior decorator's wet dream: a huge jacuzzi tub and separate shower stall, only partly walled off from the rest of the room by a shoulder-high glass partition; a long counter with double sinks; dark wood and naturally-patterned tile inset with patterns of frosted glass. Noct strips off his shirt and leans in to start the water, and twin showerheads burst to life. Prompto whistles as he takes his own shirt off, tossing it to the side absently and then unbuckling his belt. "All the amenities, huh?"

Noct grins over at his mate. "Hey, we had to go all out. They hadn't updated this place in a while, and I wanted you to have the best."

"I already do," Prompto says, without a hint of coyness. He's gratified to see Noct's blush, the tips of his ears going red, before he turns away to finish undressing.

The sight of Noct naked never fails to get Prompto's heart going just a little faster. Both of them are lean, but Noct is all compact muscle from years of training, not to mention recovering from his childhood injuries. A scar still mottles Noct's left knee, though the tissue is so faded and pale it's barely noticeable against Noct's creamy skin. It's the only mark that mars him, and in a way, Prompto likes it; it shows Noct's humanity, in a way, shows that he's not some perfect, untouchable being.

He shoves his pants and underwear off, adding them to the pile of clothing, and then undoes his wristbands and sets them on the counter. While he doesn't consider himself particularly fit -- he doesn't run on a regular schedule anymore -- neither is he overweight or out of proportion anywhere. Like Noct, he has his own faint marks, but those are old and faded too. He was still young enough when he started losing weight that the stretch marks weren't that dark, and now they only show when the light catches them.

His other mark is the one he still hides from the world, out of reflex if nothing else, but that one has been seen, if not commented on, by his pack, and so he doesn't even think about it as he turns to Noct and slides a hand into his. "Ready?" he asks.

Noct's interest is beginning to show in his scent as well as in the thickening of his penis, and his smile now is sly and anticipatory. "After you," he replies.

Prompto steps under the water and groans. It's already hot, hot enough to prickle his skin with pleasure, and the pressure is just right on his skin. He puts his hands up to the wall and drops his head forward, just letting the spray rush over his neck and the back of his head. " _Astrals_ , that feels good," he says.

"You," he hears Noct say from behind him. "You fucking--" In the next instant, Noct's right there, grasping at his hips, and Prompto grins to himself and obediently spreads his legs a little wider, plants his feet further apart. Noct presses to him and his now-stiff cock rides against Prompto's cleft. Damn, but Prompto loves being able to do this to Noctis, to turn him on so instantly. There's a feeling of power in it, but it's a power he cherishes. To have this, to be able to get what he wants: Prompto doesn't think he could ask for anything more.

His own scent is in the air, too, dampened only a little by the rushing water and steam building around them. "Hot for you already," he pants, and lifts his head so that he can look at Noct over his shoulder, wet hair dripping around his face. Noct's hair is plastered to his skull and his eyes are black and hungry with need. "Can't you tell?"

"Prom," Noct gulps. He shifts back a little, but it's only so that he can run wet fingers over Prompto's rim and feel how loose and open he already is. "Prom, can I--"

"Fuck me," Prom moans, and Noct does.

He loves everything about this: the first slick slide, the way Noctis can just drive right into him and bottom out in one smooth thrust. There's no waiting, not unless they're teasing each other to distraction: Noct is just _there_ , and Prompto sometimes thinks he'd die without Noct filling him up, sating his need. But it's not just the first moment, it's the one after, where Noct is bent over him, panting and shaking, and then slipping back just enough to thrust again, and again, until the motion takes over Prompto's senses and blinds him to all else.

He's not unaware of the tile under his feet or the steam billowing around them, of the smooth ceramic where his hands rest or the hot water pounding down on their bodies, adding a steady pattering pressure to that of Noct's hands on his skin. Those feelings just aren't as important. Water slides through his hair and over his face and forces him to keep his eyes shut, heightening every other sensation he feels. 

Noct's moving hard in him now, snapping his hips with every thrust, groin slapping against Prompto's ass. "S-so good," he grits out.

"Wish we didn't have to stop," Prompto pants, and Noct gives a breathless, hitching laugh.

"You feel so fuckin' good like this, I want to feel you come on my cock, Prom," and Noct's hand slips forward, finding his own erection where it's hanging free and heavy between his legs. Prompto shouts, makes a sound almost like a whine. He doesn't want this to end, but oh shit, Noct's fingers are tight and hot and slick on him and moving fast and Prompto comes with a wail all over the shower wall.

Noct follows right behind him, with one hard final thrust that buries him in Prompto. He doesn't pull back this time, and Prompto keens at the aftershocks of pleasure that race through him. He sags against the wall, heavy and limp, Noct draped over his back. Despite himself, he laughs somehow.

"What?" Noct mumbles against his shoulder.

"Shoulda washed up first," Prompto says, and Noct laughs too.

* * *

Somehow, they drag themselves apart and manage a cursory cleanup (Prompto sees that even his favorite shampoo and body wash have been supplied, and has to bite his lip at such a simple, thoughtful gesture), and then together they stagger, naked, back to the bed.

"Iggy'll wake us for dinner," Noct assures him. Prompto manages no more than a sleepy agreement before he's out like a light.

* * *

Nearly seven months have passed since Prompto's first heat, and he still feels agitated and anxious in the days leading up to the full moon. He keeps thinking he should be used to it by now, but every time, he feels like he's about to crawl out of his skin, as if he can't contain himself in his own body. This time feels particularly significant: not only will this one be at the pack's new home, but it'll be his twentieth birthday -- which will also be the first one he's spent somewhere other than in his parents' home.

He still hasn't contacted them. Over the course of the first week he was living at Noct's apartment, their calls and texts had gone from frantic to angry to threatening, at which point Ignis and Gladio made a point of stopping by the house. Though their faces weren't familiar to the Argentums, they'd both worn their formal Crownsguard uniforms, as significant an identifier as any that they were there on royal business. Ignis refused to go into detail about the visit; he summarized it as "satisfying", however, which only made Prompto even more curious.

The attempts at contact had eased up after that, though, for which Prompto is grateful. He doesn't like not talking to them; he _loves_ them. At the same time, he can't help but worry about what their intentions might truly be. His father had been willing to lock him in his bedroom to keep him obedient; Prompto still feels gutted by that betrayal of trust. Has his whole life up until now been a lie?

"You've got us," Noctis assures him when his worries begin to get to him. "All three of us. And my dad and Clarus and Cor and everyone else. We're not gonna lie to you, that's a promise."

Prompto knows that to be true; if nothing else, he can tell by scent that Noct isn't lying to him. The whole werewolf network seems to be a sort of built-in support net for all of them, and that's another level of reassurance.

None of that seems to reassure him very much as the days draw closer to the full moon's rising, though. Still, Prompto does his best to shake it off, to focus on the immediate future. He goes running along the broad, quiet avenues of this well-to-do residential district; he tries some new recipes in an effort to feed his pack; he takes his camera to a nearby park, a place he'd never even known existed before now. There's a duck pond dominated by two swans, who are by turns beautiful and terrifying, and he takes photographs from as safe a distance as he dares.

He awakens earlier than usual the morning of the full moon. Noctis is still asleep, unsurprisingly, sprawled with his face buried in the pillow and drool leaving a decidedly non-majestic shine on his chin. Prompto can't help a fond smile, even though he's still feeling somewhat agitated. He pushes out of bed, gives himself a once-over -- his hair is its usual morning mess, but he's wearing a tank top and chocobo-patterned pajama bottoms. Good enough for now. He has to keep one hand on the banister as he heads downstairs, though; the little shake he can feel in his system makes him want to err on the side of caution.

Unsurprisingly, Ignis is already awake and fully dressed. He's often the first of them to rise, with Gladio usually close behind; the two of them have regular duties at the Citadel, while Noct's schedule varies depending on what sort of diplomatic things he might be needed to be present for. Prompto knows that after tomorrow, he's going to have to start getting up with Gladio to go in for training; he might as well start now, he thinks.

"Ah, good morning, Prompto," Ignis says as Prompto enters the kitchen. The scent of coffee rises, alluring and seductive, and Prompto drifts closer to the central island. Ignis is already busy cooking: bacon spits in a pan, with the delicious doughy smell of pancakes coming from the griddle set next to it on the counter. "Happy birthday," Ignis adds, and Prompto laughs wryly as he hooks a foot around a stool and sits at the island.

"Jeesh, how could I forget," he says, shaking his head and raking fingers through his disheveled, messy hair.

"You've had other things on your mind," Ignis points out. He pauses to flip a pancake, then turns to pour a cup of coffee for Prompto, bringing it over to where Prompto sits. The sugar and creamer are already laid out, as if Ignis had anticipated his arrival, and Prompto reaches for a spoon and begins adding sugar liberally to the cup.

"Guess so. Can't help but be kinda focused on the heat, I guess." He adds a hit of cream from the small ceramic pitcher, then stirs the concoction and watches Ignis returning to his work. As usual, he's cooking enough for a small army; Gladio will eat at least his weight in bacon, and there needs to be some left for Noctis when he wakes up. 

Ignis begins transferring pancakes to a plate with deft, quick motions of a spatula. "You're not worried about it, are you?" he asks.

"Not really." Prompto sips his coffee thoughtfully. "I mean, I pretty much know what to expect by now. And it's not like I don't look forward to it, 'cause I really do."

"But it is rather intense," Ignis observes.

Prompto nods. "Every time. And it seems like every one is more intense than the last. Like, I get what it's for, I guess, but... we're all bonded now, right? It doesn't seem like it should _have_ to be so much every time."

It seems a little strange to be so casually talking about something like this over a morning cup of coffee in their warm, sunlit kitchen, while Ignis flips strips of bacon and pours more batter for pancakes. But heat isn't just about sex (though that's obviously a huge part of it, even though thinking about it makes Prompto shiver a little in memory and anticipation).

*"Perhaps not," Ignis replies. "But the reinforcement is also a powerful and consistent reminder of our bonds with each other, and I feel we're all better for it." When he turns again, he's sliding a plate toward Prompto. Three enormous pancakes are flanked by what looks like half a pound of bacon; Prompto's mouth begins to water, and he wastes no more time in getting up to retrieve butter and syrup from the refrigerator.

It feels weird eating alone, so he's grateful to hear Gladio's shuffling feet in the hallway. A moment later, the man himself appears; he curves an arm around Prompto's shoulders from behind and drops a sleepy kiss into his hair.

"Morning, birthday boy," he murmurs. Prompto grins and then yelps when Gladio steals a piece of bacon from his plate.

"There's plenty more for you, now, theft is hardly necessary," Ignis says, sounding tired, but the slice has already disappeared into an unrepentant Gladio's mouth.

"Not fair," Prompto mutters. "It's _my_ birthday."

"Then you can steal some when it's mine." Gladio drops another kiss on Ignis's head and reaches for a mug to pour himself some coffee. Unlike Prompto, he takes his black -- 'black as sin,' he likes to say. He leans a hip on the island to watch Ignis pouring up yet another batch of pancakes on the griddle.

"Don't think I won't remember that." Prompto circles an arm around his plate on the island as if to guard it. 

"Did you attempt to wake Noctis?" Ignis asks, unperturbed.

"'Attempt' bein' the key word, yeah." Gladio starts putting together a plate for himself; Ignis has another pan with some hash browns started as well, though they're still far too pale to be done by any stretch of the imagination, and Gladio frowns at it. "I figure if he's not up before you and I have to leave, I'll go up there and drag him down."

"I'll get him," Prompto says. When he sees Gladio eyeing his plate, he frowns. " _After_ I'm done eating."

In the end, the smell of the food draws even the sleeping prince downstairs. He arrives in shorts and a Crownsguard sweatshirt of Gladio's that he must have grabbed from the floor; Prompto snickers at the sight.

"Bite me," Noctis mumbles, and drops himself to the stool next to Prompto, head drooping to his mate's shoulder.

"You're cute when you're sleepy," Prompto says, and kisses Noct's temple. "Also, nice legs, dude. You ever thought about getting some sun on that chicken skin?"

"Why did I fall in love with you again?" Noct asks. Prompto pokes him in the side.

"Too late now, babe. No take-backsies. Remember, heat tonight."

"Like I could forget." Noct lifts his head as Ignis slides a plate before him. With his cooking responsibilities out of the way, Ignis finally assembles his own breakfast plate, though he stands at the island to eat. "Happy birthday, by the way," Noct adds, and kisses Prompto's cheek before beginning to liberally pour syrup over his pancakes.

Prompto swallows hard. His heart feels, at least momentarily, far too big for his chest.

* * *

Earlier in the week, Noctis had asked Prompto if there was anything special he wanted to do for his birthday. Prompto had been wracking his brains all week without success. Twenty wasn't a big year for Insomnians: eighteen was the year of majority, when you were considered legally an adult for everything that really mattered. Even then, Prompto hadn't partied much on his birthday, though he and Noct had spent the day at the arcade and kicked around one of the big downtown shopping areas, getting food and eyeballing all the latest electronics. They'd topped the day off with a movie, but Prompto remembered very little of what they saw now; his attention had been on Noct, whose hand had stayed draped over the armrest between them long after the popcorn was gone. Back then, Prompto had fantasized about holding that hand.

WIth his heat coming up tonight, though, Prompto really only wanted to relax so that he could be ready for it. "Like, even if we just stay in and order pizza and play video games, that's plenty enough for me," he'd finally told Noct, who'd shrugged and agreed to the plan, low-key though it might have been.

Of course, Noct still manages to surprise him: there's a new release of Prompto's favorite battlefield series out, already installed on the console and waiting for him, when they head back upstairs to get dressed properly (per Ignis's instructions, before he left with Gladio to head to the Citadel). "Fuck _clothes_ ," Prompto laughs when he sees the game's box on the table, and that's it for a good couple of hours.

Inevitably, though, the game's attractiveness wanes as the day wears on, and Prompto finally has to put aside the controller and rub his eyes, unable to focus on the screen any longer.

"Need to lay down?" Noct asks.

"Something." Prompto pushes himself upright, but before he can head into their bedroom, Noctis guides him upstairs. They haven't used the pack bed yet; everyone's been busy, and something in Prompto wanted to wait to break it in. He sighs as Noctis tugs back the duvet, lets himself flop down onto the mattress (it's the biggest one he's ever seen, looks like it could sleep six comfortably); he doesn't relax until Noct has joined him, though.

"Better?"

Prompto's more comfortable -- especially since Noct has left the room dark, the curtains drawn and the lights off -- but he can't seem to relax. He turns and presses himself into his mate's arms. The conversation he was having with Ignis earlier comes back into his mind, and he lets out a sigh in spite of himself. 

Noct's hand comes up to stroke his hair, smoothing the unruly locks. "You need to talk about something?" he asks.

Prompto hides a chuckle in Noct's chest (bare; he'd taken the sweatshirt off again). "Dunno," he says. "I guess I've been wondering how long these heats are gonna keep being so crazy intense, you know? I talked about it a bit with Iggy this morning, but he didn't really know."

"Maybe we should find an omega for you to talk to." Noct's voice is soft, soothing. "I can't say I really know that much about it, and it'd be kinda weird to ask Dad."

"Yeah." Prompto can't help a laugh this time. It's weird enough talking to Regis with his super-alpha vibe going on, though that's eased up somewhat over the months as Prompto's bond with Noct strengthened. "Should have found someone at the gala to give me all the deets."

Noct hums briefly; then his lips press into Prompto's hair. "That's not a bad idea."

"Wait, you're not gonna throw another one of those balls, are you?" Prompto lifts his head, blinking at Noctis.

"No, but there's gotta be someone we can trust who's part of the network." Noct's hand strokes down over Prompto's shoulder. The touch is still easy; right now, Prompto feels only comfort from that gentle stroke, and probably won't even want that as the day goes on, but for now it's perfect. "I'll talk to Dad and see if he can suggest someone."

"Mmm. OK." Prompto lets his head rest again, closing his eyes and succumbing to Noct's warmth. Maybe if he finds an omega to talk to about all this stuff, he can ask them how he started having heats in the first place, too.

* * *

The moon rises.

Prompto's gone through his usual agitation and unrest in the hour or so leading up to moonrise; he soaked for a while in the bath (almost floating, the tub is so huge and Noct had added bath salts to ease the impossible itch all over Prompto's skin), drank as much water as he could stand, ate lightly from the dinner Ignis prepared for them. He would have rather had a nice big birthday dinner out at some restaurant with his pack, but Noct promised him they'd do that tomorrow once Prompto recuperated from tonight's heat, so he can be patient.

Now, with the signal of that faraway heavenly body (Prompto wondered, once, if this is anything like the call felt by the tides), his senses kick into overdrive. The scents of his pack shift from patient anticipation to immediate want, echoing his own abrupt descent into sheer lust. He's just begun drying himself off from the brief shower that sluiced the salty water from his skin; now, he drops the towel heedlessly to the floor and stumbles into the adjoining bedroom, with Noct close behind him to keep him upright.

Prompto sprawls to his belly the moment he hits the mattress, legs extending to get his ass up into the air. "Noct," he breathes, and Noct is right there behind him, while Gladio settles in front, taking Prompto's upper body onto his lap. "Noct, now," Prompto begs.

"You got me," and Noct's fingers are exploring him, two sinking easy into his hungry body. Prompto moans. Two fingers are _nothing_ right now. Noct adds a third and a fourth, and Prompto starts to wonder if Noct's going to put his whole fist into him. The idea shakes him with an almost painful wave of need.

" _Noct_ ," Prompto gasps. This time, the desperation must be clear in his voice, because Noct pulls back fingers dripping with Prompto's slick and replaces them with his cock. Just like that, Noct is buried to the hilt in Prompto, and he wastes no time setting up a hungry rhythm, hard and urgent, hips slapping against Prompto's ass with every driving thrust. 

"That's it," he hears Gladio say. "Give it to him fast, he needs it. Don't you, baby?" Gladio's fingers slip under Prompto's chin, tilting his face up so that he can see the heat and lust in Gladio's eyes: their extraordinary amber color has darkened to brown so deep as to be almost black, and Prompto swallows hard.

"I want yours, too," he says, with no shame at all. 

Gladio makes an inarticulate sound, but, like Prompto thought, he's hardly one to turn down an eager mouth. He shifts a little so that Prompto can move easily, without stretching himself unduly. Like all of them, he's rock hard, and his alpha cock stands proud and thick from the dark, wiry nest of hair at its base.

Even Ignis loses his normal dignified bearing in these moments. He's settled beside Gladio, where he has a lovely view of the proceedings, and his breath comes short as he palms his own erection against his belly. "Gorgeous," he murmurs; Prompto glances up at Ignis and gives him a wink, as much as to tell him that he's next, and then he's opening his mouth for Gladio.

Over the months, Prompto's gotten better at going down on his alpha packmates. Ignis's cock is impressive, too, there's no doubt about that, but he can usually take Ignis all the way down without too much trouble. Gladio and Noct, though, are blessed by their very nature with more, and Prompto would feel inadequate if he wasn't always getting those delicious cocks so deep in him that he can't see straight. Tonight, Prompto wants to try and get Gladio in his throat, and he thinks he might just be able to.

Noct's still going strong and steady behind him; Prompto moans around Gladio's cock when Noct's hand comes around to take him in hand, stroking Prompto to orgasm in moments. For an instant there, Prompto does gag as the climax hits him hard, and he has to pull back to breathe, which just makes Gladio whine at the loss. Once his head settles down from the reeling pleasure, Prompto goes back at it. He can feel his mate's knot beginning to swell inside him; the idea of having both Gladio and Noct knotted in him nearly makes Prompto come all over again, without even being touched. He gropes out with one hand, desperate, and finds Ignis pressing it to his erection. His fingers curl in a tight fist, beginning to move automatically, almost without his conscious thought. Ignis groans; Prompto feels him shudder and press himself against Gladio.

Tears form in the corners of Prompto's eyes as Noct knots him. Every thrust is hard and intense, and when the knot rides against his rim, Prompto shouts as waves of pleasure roll through him, every one setting him shaking. The moment comes when Noct can't pull back anymore. Prompto feels him settle in, heavy and hard and full inside him, and a helpless groan comes out around Gladio's cock.

One more swallow, somehow, and he's done it. He can barely breathe. He feels stuffed full, with his pack surrounding him, inside him, Gladio's pre-come leaking down his throat and the heavy shaft against his tongue mirroring the one in his ass. He blinks up at Gladio, needing to see his packmate's face in this moment, and the sight of Gladio kissing Ignis frantically is all Prompto needs to go off again.

When Gladio comes in his mouth an instant later, Prompto would almost say it's too much, except that he can't let go of any of this. Not Ignis in his hand, not Gladio in his mouth, not Noct filling him from behind. He needs all of this and more. 

His jaw aches when he finally pulls back from Gladio and rests his head on the big man's thigh. Panting, shivering, Gladio sinks a hand into Prompto's hair. It feels like praise. His hand comes down to help Prompto jerk Ignis into his climax; Noctis, who's all but collapsed over Prompto, presses kisses to his shoulder and watches their beta come in messy spurts over Gladio's and Prompto's hands.

Prompto really doesn't care about how his heats got started. Not in this moment. He can't imagine being anywhere else than impossibly entangled with his pack forever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's Crownsguard training begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, and really this whole fic, owes a great deal to Arumattie. I really should list her as a co-author at this point because oh my god, all the best ideas come from her. I'm just the messenger.

Gladio's feeling extraordinarily kind after Prompto's heat. He gives him two days off, instead of one, before starting him on Crownsguard training.

"Gee, thanks, big guy," Prompto moans when Gladio pulls him out of bed and shoves some new athletic gear into his arms. "You're the best."

"Shut up and get dressed," Gladio replies, but he soothes it with a kiss to Prompto's forehead. On the other side of the bed, Noctis says something into the pillow, but he's still so deeply asleep that it comes across as an incoherent mumble instead. Prompto can't help an affectionate smile for his mate anyway, and the thought of coming home and climbing back into bed with him gets him up and moving.

As it turns out, Gladio's procured a brand new set of running pants and a shirt and jacket, all black and emblazoned with the Crownsguard logo, for Prompto's training. His lime-green and neon-yellow running shoes don't quite match the rest of the outfit, but at least they don't clash with it, either. When Prompto zips up the jacket and sticks his hands in the pockets, he finds a pair of black sweatbands for his wrists and swallows hard.

He's grateful enough to give Gladio a kiss when he comes down the stairs to the front hall, where Gladio's been waiting for him. Gladio says nothing, but he touches the sweatband on Prompto's right wrist with a smile.

Even if Prompto had wanted to keep the barcode tattoo a secret, his pack would have found it anyway. Noct had known about it even before they first hooked up; he was the only one in school who had known, having caught sight of it one day when they were changing after gym class. After his unexpected first heat, Prompto had bigger things on his mind; by the time the four of them came together for the heat that bonded them as a pack, he'd been with each one of them individually and no one had said a thing.

Even so, Prompto still finds the occasional pang of worry crossing his mind when he sees the barcode. It's not a tattoo; whatever it is, it's as black as it was the first time he consciously remembers seeing it. Normal tattoos fade, the ink going from black to grey and the colors softening. This mark is still sharp-edged and clean, though the individual bars have moved a little, shifting as Prompto grew and his skin stretched to keep up with him. Whatever it's for, it can't be anything good.

Seeing it reminds him of where he came from. He may have no memories of any home but Insomnia, but he wasn't born here, and his origin is an ever-present, ongoing mystery. Even if he were to learn the truth of his birth, he isn't sure it would soothe him or ease his mind at all.

His frustrations and fears are put on hold once Gladio pulls the car up at the Citadel, though. For now, he needs to put it all aside and focus on training.

At first, it isn't too bad. Gladio wants to assess his physical abilities, so he does some basic tests: some running, timed sprints and such. He does a rope-climb that leaves him hanging weakly halfway up the rope. He's better when it comes to running an obstacle course, threading his way between bollards, in and out of old tires. When Gladio suggests, with only a mild undertone of sarcasm, that Prompto's strength lies in gymnastics, Prompto does an easy cartwheel for him, then collapses on the ground in laughter.

"Huh," Gladio says with a grin.

After a brief break for water and granola bars, they head over to the armory. Prompto hangs back at the door as Gladio goes inside. Weapons are displayed on every wall and on standing racks in the center of the room. A couple of practice dummies are lined up by an open door, through which Prompto glimpses dark shapes that might be armor.

"Here." Gladio holds out a long, slender sword with a slight curve to the blade. "See how this feels." He glances behind him, after a moment, and blinks when he sees Prompto still by the door instead of next to him. "Prompto," he says. "C'mon."

"Yeah, OK." Prompto can scent Gladio's impatience. Despite his reluctance, he comes into the room and takes the blade gingerly. It feels heavy and off-balance in his hand; he has to hold the long hilt with both, which makes sense, he supposes, given that it is a full-length sword.

"Katana," Gladio says briefly. "Step back, see how it feels when you hold it up."

"Not great," Prompto replies, but he does as the alpha asks. He holds it out before him in what he imagines is an attack stance and Gladio laughs.

"No, no, like this." Gladio comes up behind him, reaching around to adjust Prompto's grip, the angle at which he holds the blade. Prompto has to suck in a breath; Gladio smells good, like he always does, and being up close like this brings back so many memories of Gladio fucking him from this position, that strong, well-built chest pressed to Prompto's bare back.

He scents the interest rising in Gladio even as his own cock twitches hopefully. Gladio laughs and steps back. "That's not gonna get us anywhere," he says.

"Maybe somewhere fun," Prompto says silkily. He smiles over his shoulder at Gladio, who just shakes his head in amusement and holds his hand out for the katana. 

"I don't think this'll work for you. You're a lithe guy, you're small, you need something that'll keep you active and moving." Gladio eyes the polearms, a tall naginata mounted on the wall, a halberd, then shakes his head and keeps going. He pauses again at another rack, this one holding shorter swords, presumably one-handed types, and daggers. A pair of them look familiar: Prompto knows Ignis has a special set, and wonders if these are the actual daggers or just the ones he trained on. After a moment, Gladio moves on. "I wanna train you on different stuff," he says, "but for right now... Let's see how your aim is."

Prompto may not love weapons, but one game he greatly enjoys in the arcade is a first-person shooter, a target-style game with a physical pistol (albeit made of plastic) with a sensor to pick off the game's alien enemies. It may not be the one he's best at, but he always has fun with it. The pistol Gladio hands him is slender in design, with a separate clip that loads into the handle; Prompto swings it around on his fingers and then nods.

"Let's try it," he agrees.

* * *

The gun range is adjacent to the armory, accessible only to Crownsguard and Kingsglaive with the appropriate security clearance. Gladio checks them in, retrieves ammunition from a locked case in the rear of the building, then hands over protective glasses and headsets, keeping another set for himself.

"Gonna take it you never used one of these before," he says.

Prompto shakes his head, but it seems logical to load the bullets into the clip a certain way, to slide the clip into the gun until it clicks smoothly. Gladio shrugs and nods, gestures toward one of the booths. He pauses to clip a paper target to an overhead line and then winches it to the back of the range.

"First things first," he says. "Protection. Always. When we're in here, this is number one. If you mess up your ears or take out an eye, Noct will kill me."

Prompto swallows and nods. That's not an idle comment; he's fairly sure that Noct really would go bestial if something happened to him, no matter the cause. Then again, the idea of someone hurting Noct makes something angry swell up in him, too, so he knows where it comes from. He obediently slips on the headset and slides the clear protective glasses on. 

Once they're both geared up, Gladio shows Prompto how to take the safety off and aim the pistol so that it won't jump in his hand or recoil into his face. "There," Gladio says, and though his voice is dim through the headsets, Prompto can hear the calm in it, the warmth. "Legs a little further apart, you want to brace yourself against the shock. Both hands up--there--" His arm comes around Prompto again, adjusting the way he holds the gun: one hand on the grip, the other cupping the base of the grip, solidifying his hold on it. "And just gently squeeze the trigger."

"Now?" Prompto asks.

"Now," Gladio says, and Prompto fires.

The gun jumps in his hand, a flash at the muzzle as gunpowder ignites -- and a black mark appears in the target at the far end of the range. Prompto stares. He hit the man-shape dead in the face.

"Damn," Gladio says. "Maybe all that goofing off at the arcade was good for something after all." He's dropped his hands, but he still stands close behind Prompto -- close enough that Prompto can feel his body heat, can smell, even over cordite and gunpowder, that Gladio is impressed -- and a little turned on.

Prompto grins and raises the gun to fire again.

* * *

By the time they're done, he's run through two clips and only missed the target once. Every other shot landed within the outline, and even if they weren't all killing shots, he feels sure that he'd at least incapacitate whatever he was shooting long enough to get help.

"Go for the knees, if you don't want to kill," Gladio advises him as they return the safety gear and the rest of the ammunition. "It'll keep 'em on the ground and in so much pain they won't care about gettin' back at you." When Prompto doesn't respond, fingers fiddling with the safety of the now-unloaded pistol, Gladio tips his head. "What is it?"

"Just. First time I've thought about the fact that we might actually be fighting _people_."

Gladio smiles, soft and sympathetic. "Yeah, I get that. I mean, it might not ever happen, and I'd be glad as anyone else if Lucis stayed peaceful for all of Noct's reign. But truth is, we gotta be prepared. The way Niflheim's been comin' after us the past thirty years..." He sighs, shakes his head. "We might be at peace now, but that won't always be the case. And if it isn't, we need to be ready. Come on. We'll put that back for now and go get somethin' to eat, OK?"

Prompto nods, but before they leave the gun range, he leans up into Gladio's warmth to kiss him. He keeps it quick, just in case anyone else comes in and sees them. Gladio makes a surprised -- but pleased -- sound, his arm coming around Prompto to hold him close. When he lets go, Gladio's smile is more natural.

"Maybe I'll make that a reward," he says with a lazy grin. "You do good on your training, you get kissed."

"That's all I get?" Prompto pretends to pout, but his eyes are dancing as they head back to the armory to drop off his weapon.

* * *

The Crownsguard and Kingsglaive have separate barracks and wings, but they share a joint canteen, which is where Gladio leads Prompto next. They choose wrapped sandwiches from a glass-fronted refrigerator, drinks (Gladio gets bottles of water for both of them and Prompto adds a bottle of orange juice), and chips from a rack, and then grab a table. It's early yet, so the place is mostly empty; an attendant comes through to restock the soda and energy drinks in a vending machine while they scarf down their food, while three people in Kingsglaive uniforms converse idly at a nearby table. They glance over at Gladio and nod; Gladio returns the gesture, then murmurs to Prompto, "Wolves."

Prompto's too busy filling his stomach to want to talk; he darts a glance at the other table and recognizes the only woman of the group, who wears long dark hair hanging around her face, from the gala-slash-werewolf meeting on the roof of the Citadel. He's fairly sure they were introduced, but her name escapes him. Still, it's nice to know they have people they can trust here.

"That's Crowe," Gladio murmurs. "The heavier guy is Libertus, and the other one is Nyx. They're a pack, too."

"Really?" Prompto glances at them again, intrigued now, sampling the air. He can scent alpha coming from the man with the braids -- Nyx, Gladio said -- and Crowe. Libertus's fainter scent is harder to parse for a moment, but then Prompto recognizes it as beta. "They don't have an omega," he says in slow realization.

"Yeah, kinda like us before we found you," Gladio says. His voice is quiet, but he's sure the other group can hear them talking. "Not everyone in the Kingsglaive is a wolf, but a lot of the ones the king brought in from Galahd and Tenebrae are. Helps give them a solid situation here, and he can look out for them."

They're refugees. Prompto feels a sudden swell of sympathy. He'd known Insomnia had accepted its share of those who'd lost their homes due to the Empire's invasion of outlying territories, and that local citizens didn't all take it well, even though it wasn't Lucis's fault that Niflheim was trying to swallow the world. It made sense that a percentage of those looking for a new home, or at least for a place in which to survive, would be werewolves. (Or maybe other supernatural beings. Prompto hasn't inquired about that yet, isn't sure he wants to know.)

As he returns to his sandwich, he overhears a snatch of quiet conversation from the other group. Though they're on the far side of the canteen, his acute werewolf hearing picks up the soft words as if they were being spoken in his ear: "...said we have to keep an eye out for new werewolves in the city." That's the woman, Crowe.

The bigger guy, Libertus, swallows before speaking. "Heard some folks got bitten. Didn't think the King was givin' anyone the authority to do that right now." (That's right, Prompto remembers: some werewolves are born that way, but others are created by being bitten. The latter is more common because werewolf births are difficult, so the creation of new wolves has to be sanctioned in order to keep their numbers low in the city.)

"He's not," Nyx says. Prompto's not looking at them, but he swears he feels eyes on him anyway. He deliberately reaches for his juice and takes a long swig of it. "There's a report on it. Injuries bein' reported at the hospital as dog bites..."

"Hey," and Gladio's fingers are on Prompto's shoulder, dragging his attention away from the other conversation. Prompto flinches and looks guiltily up at Gladio. "No, it's OK," Gladio says. "Don't let them bother you, though. You're not who they're talkin' about."

"Then who are they talking about?" Prompto asks.

Gladio sighs. "We'll talk about it at home, OK?"

Prompto doesn't really want to drop it, but it's probably safer to discuss it at the manor, where they can guarantee they won't be overheard. Sighing, he finishes his sandwich and balls up the wrapper.

* * *

After they're done eating, Gladio takes Prompto back to the armory. Even though they've already figured out what Prompto's primary weapon will most likely be, Gladio wants to test him on other things as well. "It can't hurt to learn more than one fighting style," he points out. "I'm not expecting you to master them all, but if you need to improvise, you should at least know what end of the weapon to hold."

He demonstrates with some kind of large, round bladed thing that reminds Prompto of a shuriken, only sized up by about five thousand percent. There's a handle of some kind bisecting the central circle around which the blades are arranged, so Prompto assumes that's where his hand goes. When he takes it from Gladio, he nearly drops it.

"That thing weighs more than I do!" he yelps, and Gladio laughs.

"See, it's all in how you hold it," Gladio informs him. Prompto casts a longing glance at the guns as Gladio comes closer to instruct him.

By the end of the day, Prompto wants nothing more than to flop down on the training room floor and never move again.

"Gladio," he whines. "Carry me home."

"I'll carry you to the locker room," Gladio offers.

Prompto seriously considers it for a moment, then straightens with only a brief unhappy sound. He doesn't want to look like a wimp in front of any Glaives who might be hanging around.

In the locker room, Gladio offers Prompto a set of clean clothes, since Prompto hadn't thought to bring any with him. Prompto glances at the sweats and t-shirt, probably a bit oversized but more than enough to get him back home, and then looks back up at Gladio with a sly smile.

"Should probably shower first, right?" he says, and watches Gladio's eyes perceptibly darken.

* * *

Like the locker room, the showers are empty save for the two of them. While the majority of the square room is open with no separation, stalls line one side to give more privacy to Kingsglaive and Crownsguard who may need it: they're simple at best, with wooden doors set into a low frame that rises as high as Prompto's nipples and exposes his legs from the shins down.

"It's probably against the rules for us to do anything in here, huh?" Prompto asks. In spite of that -- or maybe because of it -- he's already shaking a little, feeling hot and loose and open, and his cock is hard against his belly.

"We'll have to be quick," Gladio says. That's not a no, but it's not a yes, either. Prompto swallows hard and heads for one of the stalls. Gladio's close behind him; the room smells primarily of bleach with a hint of mildew, strongly overlaid with the scents of aroused alpha and omega slick. If they're discovered--

"About half the Glaives are wolves," Gladio mutters in Prompto's ear. Prompto shudders and steps into the stall, turning the water on while Gladio's still securing the door. "They'll know exactly what we were doing."

"I don't think I give a fuck," Prompto says, "as long as you fuck me right now."

Hot water rushes down on them from the overhead faucet, soaking Prompto, plastering his hair to his skull. He leans forward, braces his arms on the tile. Gladio makes a low sound of sheer need and drops the soap and shampoo onto a ledge for that purpose. A moment later, his big hands bracket Prompto's hips and the line of his cock grinds into the cleft of Prompto's ass.

Prompto bites down hard on a moan. "Gladio," he groans. 

"You ready for me?" Gladio asks. It's not the worst question in the world, but it feels like Gladio's forcing him to wait; Prompto keens with hunger. Roughened fingers slide over his opening, tease in; Gladio makes another hungry sound, this one shaky, as he registers how clearly turned on Prompto is, dripping wet and open with need. "Fuck," he mutters, and a moment later the blunt head of his cock replaces his fingers.

When he pushes in, Prompto cries out in raw pleasure. It echoes off the walls. Gladio's hand comes up to cover Prompto's mouth for a moment, and Prompto inhales hard and then nods. "I got it," he breathes against Gladio's fingers. "Quiet."

"Quiet as you can be," Gladio pants. "This won't-- this won't take long--"

The hand drops to his hip again, and suddenly Gladio's pounding into him in a frenzy of thrusts. Prompto's used to Gladio going slower, taking his time; he's off balance and stunned, the pleasure so intense that he can't even seem to comprehend it for a moment. He doesn't quite have the leverage to push back, but it's all right; Gladio's grip on him is so sound that Prompto probably couldn't move if he wanted to.

"Touch yourself," Gladio grunts in his ear. "Wanna see you gettin' yourself off."

"I'll come," Prompto gasps.

"Good." Gladio's voice is so low, so raw, that Prompto moans even with his teeth buried in the inside of his cheek to keep his mouth shut. He drops one hand from the tile, finding an instant to re-settle the other to keep himself propped up, and then takes himself in a tight fist.

It can't be more than thirty seconds of this before he comes. It might be longer, but Prompto can't even focus enough to think about time; he's jerking himself hard, feeling Gladio's hot breath on his nape, in his ear; when Gladio's teeth settle on his shoulder, that's it, Prompto's just _gone_. Pleasure rockets through him so strong that he whites out for a moment; when he comes back to himself, Gladio's shaking and coming into him in a hot rush, cursing through gritted teeth to keep from shouting.

"F-fuck," he pants, sagging hard on his supporting arm.

"Shoulda waited," Gladio breathes. "I know. Woulda been better in a bed."

Prompto shakes his head, twisting to smile over his shoulder at Gladio. "This was perfect."

Gladio smiles at that, soft, and presses a kiss to Prompto's shoulder. With a reluctant groan, he pulls back, slipping free of Prompto, who shudders at the loss. "C'mon," he murmurs. "Let's get cleaned up, then we can go home and do it all over again."

Prompto's never felt so motivated to get clean in his life.

* * *

After the first few days of training, Prompto's days begin to fall into a routine. He's quit the Electronics World job in order to focus on preparing for his Crownsguard examinations. (He doesn't think he'll fail them, but even if he does, he can always find some other job to keep him occupied.)

Gladio accompanies him while he figures out his daily training at first, but soon he's called away to deal with whatever daily stuff the future Shield has to deal with. Prompto doesn't mind. Mostly. He knows Gladio has a lot of important work of his own to do, and he isn't really sure he wants to know what all of that involves. Gladio has been trained practically from birth to be Noctis's Shield: if necessary, to stand directly between Noctis and physical harm. That doesn't just extend to bodily protection, though; Gladio explains as he drives Prompto over to the Citadel on the third morning that he likes to be aware of security threats around Insomnia and even Lucis, which, lately, is under heavy siege from the Niflheim Imperial Army. Niflheim has built bases throughout the countryside, essentially occupying all of Lucis except for the Crown City, which is still protected by the Wall.

On top of monitoring all that activity, Gladio also helps his father and the King keep track of werewolf activity within Insomnia. Prompto hadn't paid a whole lot of attention to the political situation as refugees began to stream into Insomnia several years ago -- at the time, he was going through puberty, dealing with acne and body hair and an unexpected crush on a classmate who also happened to be the Crown Prince of Lucis. Prompto couldn't have known back then, though, that many of the refugees at the time were werewolves and had been brought in very carefully by the King and his pack to keep them safe. As a result, the ratio of wolves to baseline humans has risen higher than its usual proportion in the city in the past few years.

"Another reason it's so important to keep tabs on all of 'em," Gladio grunts as he and Prompto spar: today they're trying lances, which has so far resulted in Prompto falling over multiple times while trying to get used to handling the unfamiliar weapon. "Make sure everyone's playin' by the rules, not causin' any incidents that might make normal people suspicious."

"So you and your dad keep track of them?" Prompto asks as he uses the lance to push himself to his feet yet again. Gladio drops into an attack stance; Prompto attempts to defend himself and winds up on his ass before he knows what hit him, the lance flying from his hands.

"More or less." Gladio holds a hand out for Prompto, pulling him to his feet. Upright once more, Prompto puts his hands on his knees and wheezes while Gladio retrieves the lance. "This clearly ain't gonna work for you. I wanna get you doin' some gymnastics training before we add weapons to the mix, I'll have to see what Ignis's schedule is like."

Grateful, Prompto nods. "So what does 'keeping track' mean exactly?"

"Mostly we just make sure there's no weird incidents happening. Investigating weird animal reports and stuff. Like, you heard those Glaives talkin' about more wolves being created. The King doesn't allow just anyone to make new wolves randomly, so we gotta find out what's goin' on there. Obviously it's not a big deal if a wolf couple has a baby, but wolves get made by bein' bitten, too."

Once again, Prompto remembers how his first heat just happened, out of the blue. No bite was involved, no contact with another werewolf. _Why?_

Thankfully, he's distracted by Gladio, who's tossing him the lance again. Prompto manages to catch it without fumbling it to the floor and counts that a win.

* * *

So Prompto settles into a daily schedule. He runs with Gladio, does acrobatics and gymnastics training with Ignis, spends his afternoons in the firing range; sometimes he spars with Gladio or Noctis when the latter has come in for his own training, which is significantly different from Prompto's. Since Prompto can't exactly use his guns when sparring, Gladio starts coming up with moves they can use together to take down an enemy: disorienting them by trading off weapons, little maneuvers to get one or the other closer to their opponent (or farther away, if necessary). Even if Prompto doesn't pass his Crownsguard test -- and he doesn't see why he wouldn't, at this point -- he'll still be well-equipped to fight alongside his pack.

"I still don't understand _why_ , though," he says one afternoon, in between gulps of water. They've been using the Kingsglaive's training ground today, so that Noct can practice warping; Gladio's gone into wolf form since no one else is around, which gives them the added benefit of training against an opponent of a different shape and size than what they're used to.

"Why what?" Noctis asks. Gladio flops down beside them, panting; Noctis almost absently digs a hand into the thick, dark fur of his back and scratches, and Gladio's tail thumps approvingly.

"Why we're training to fight all kinds of... stuff." Prompto waves a hand helplessly, evoking some general, nameless enemy. "I mean, is this what I'm gonna have to look out for in the Crownsguard? Constant threats and big fights?"

"Well, we _are_ at war," Noctis points out drily. "You know? Niflheim? Trying to take over Lucis piece by piece?"

Prompto feels himself go hot and looks away, drinking the last of his water. It's not that he'd forgotten; safe inside the walls of Insomnia, though, it's easy to sometimes forget the encroaching Imperial presence, the way they've gobbled up one part of Eos after another in their efforts to dominate the world (to what end, Prompto can't imagine; he's never really understood, or tried to comprehend, that lust for power and control). Still, it's hard for him to picture Niflheim invading the city itself. Not while the Wall remains strong, sheltering the city from harm.

"Hey," Noctis says, and his arm comes around Prompto's shoulders. "I know, it's not something you think about every day. It's OK."

Prompto can't help making a little face as he looks at Noctis again. "It's not that," he says. "I mean, well, it is, but. I can't help thinkin' about how I'm from there, too." He holds up his right arm, even though the barcode on his wrist is hidden, today, by a pair of leather straps wrapped around the offending mark and buttoned together to stay in place. "I feel like. Like I'm some sort of weird sleeper agent or something and I'm gonna be activated and attack you before you know it."

Noctis bursts out into a laugh, but it dies as Prompto's expression doesn't change. Gladio sits up, ears perked, paying more attention to the conversation now. 

"Prom," Noctis says at last. "This is really bothering you."

"Well, yeah." Feeling his face going red, Prompto looks straight ahead, unable to meet Noctis's eyes. They're sitting on the low wall overlooking the grounds; he brings his knees up and wraps his arms around them. "We don't know why I started having heats. I was latent, I mean, as far as we know I was. And then it just _happened_ , all of a sudden. But it shouldn't have unless I was bitten, right? Like someone flipped a switch or something."

Noctis says nothing, but his hand doesn't move from where it rests on Prompto's shoulder. Swallowing, Prompto closes his eyes. "I love this. Our pack. I wouldn't trade this for the world. But I'd die before I hurt you. Any of you. And if I'm a threat--"

Gladio's furry head nudges under Prompto's arm; he'd come around to Prompto's other side without Prompto even noticing, and his wet nose pushes into the crook of Prompto's elbow, startling an involuntary laugh out of him.

"We trust you," Noctis says, finally. "All of us. We're gonna figure out why you are the way you are, but it doesn't make a difference in how Iggy and Gladio and I feel about you. You're still _you_ , Prom. That's all that matters."

"OK," Prompto gulps, and this time he lets Noctis tug him in.

Gladio gets up suddenly, surprising Prompto again, and changes back into his human form: it's fascinating to watch him moving fluidly, one moment on four feet and the next on two. He feels Noctis's head on his shoulder, both of them admiring the view as a naked Gladio picks up his clothes and starts getting dressed.

"Boo," Prompto says, but Gladio shakes his head. A moment later, Prompto realizes what Gladio had already heard: footsteps coming up the corridor that leads into the observation room where they're sitting. Prompto pushes to his feet, Noctis right behind him, and just as Gladio finishes tugging his shirt down, the door swings wide to reveal several Kingsglaives. Prompto doesn't recognize any of them, but Noct and Gladio both go tense -- even from across the room, Prompto can see the subtle shift in Gladio's stance. These might be Glaives, but they're not wolves; that much is clear from the scent of baseline human. Stranger still, there's an odd undercurrent of dislike rolling from them, and Prompto feels himself tense up too.

"Prince," the one at the head of the group says, dropping a nod barely deep enough to be considered an obeisance.

"Luche," Noctis replies, and Prompto takes in that face, the lean, hungry look of it. He doesn't like this Luche right away. Werewolf instincts, he's learning, are rarely wrong.

"We've scheduled the training grounds, if you're done with your... friend," Luche says. His tone is just barely on the polite side of disdainful. Prompto itches with the urge to step in front of Noctis, to defend him.

"Thanks," Gladio says instead, and Luche, who clearly hadn't seen the man standing there, jumps. A couple of the Glaives laugh, and Prompto's tempted to as well. He thinks that it probably doesn't bode well for a man sworn to defend the King to be so unaware of his surroundings, but right now he's too amused to care. "We'll clear out, Glaive." 

Gladio's tone is dismissive, and as he moves to the door, a couple of the other Glaives who'd followed Luche in -- both of them smaller, slighter in build than the powerfully-built Gladio -- move out of the way of the Shield. Prompto doesn't have to look behind himself to know that Noct is smirking; he can smell the laughter on his mate. 

"Later," Noct tosses over his shoulder to Luche before they walk out. Gladio, who'd been holding the door, lets it swing shut. Prompto fancies he hears sighs of relief as they go.

"What's with that guy?" he asks, once they're further down the hall that leads back to the locker rooms.

"Attitude problem," Gladio says. "But he's not so stupid that he'll do something in front of Noctis. Yet, anyway." The Shield rolls his eyes. "They think the prince is a spoiled brat who hasn't learned his kingly duties."

Prompto's chest swells with anger on Noctis's behalf, but Noctis catches his arm before he can turn around. "Leave it, Prom," Noctis tells him. "They're not worth it. They'll learn, or they'll be gone."

"You know," Prompto says, "it's kinda hot when you get all authoritative like that."

Noctis's grin is shameless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to say that this will probably be the last update for a while. I've been struggling a lot with this fic, and writing in general, and until I can find the motivation and willpower to keep it going, it's going to have to go on hold. I probably shouldn't have started posting until I was done with it, so that's on me, but at this point I'll actually be surprised if anyone's reading it anyway. Anyway, my apologies. When I do get more done, I will post it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot is happening, people, I repeat, PLOT IS HAPPENING. 
> 
> As always, blame Arumattie for all the good ideas she gives me. Also, I've been actually outlining, so I know where this thing is going now. Sort of. >.>

Training feels endless, and Prompto's just about to begin whining about how pointless it all seems to be when dates are finally posted for the Crownsguard examinations. Only a dozen or so candidates apply through the year, so the exams tend to be spaced out accordingly; this time, Gladio informs Prompto, there are a grand total of ten applicants.

"But the pass rate is far lower," Ignis puts in. They're all eating dinner in the formal dining room, even though there's no special occasion or reason (except that Ignis is tired of them all grouped around the island in the kitchen, apparently, and wants to make sure Prompto in particular is familiar with the manners that will be required of him as the Prince's consort). 

"How much lower?" Prompto asks nervously.

"Eh, maybe a quarter of everyone who applies makes it. They get kinda strict, for obvious reasons." Gladio forks a huge pile of mashed potato into his mouth.

"More like a fifth of the candidates. But I see no reason to worry about your chances," Ignis says, smooth, while Noctis reaches over to pat Prompto's back. "You're making all the numbers you're expected to, and your skills with ranged weapons have improved dramatically since you began training."

Noctis finishes his water and nods. "Besides, you've got friends on the inside." He gives Prompto a grin. "We'll make sure you get in one way or another."

Prompto shakes his head at that. "No way, Noct. I want to pass fair and square."

"Keep in mind that the examinations may not be scheduled again until sometime next year," Ignis says. "You may not be able to take the tests again for months."

"Gives me more time to train," Prompto says, with more confidence than he feels. 

He knows that no matter what, he'll still be part of the pack, of Noctis's life. That's not what bothers him, really. It's that he knows there's a structure to everything surrounding the royal family. Every person who enters the Citadel has to do so for a reason, whether it's in service to the crown or to the government, whether they're part of the hierarchy of werewolf packs or whether they're a personal employee of the King. Prompto doesn't want to be Noctis's mate, the omega of his pack, without any cover, without a plausible explanation of why he's always at the Citadel or by Noctis's side. He's pretty sure that being Noctis's "best friend" (at least, in the eyes of the public) would start to look suspicious after a while.

If he can't join the Crownsguard (which doesn't seem a likely possibility, but still), he'll have to think of some other reason for why he's always with Noctis.

"Hey," Noctis says suddenly, and Prompto glances up at him. "Stop staring at your green beans and finish eating. We'll figure it out together, OK? This isn't all on you."

Prompto swallows in relief and smiles at his mate. Noctis is right: Prompto's not alone in this, not anymore.

* * *

The exams are scheduled for the end of November, which gives Prompto time to recover from his heat. He doesn't know if it was scheduled like that on purpose -- it is possible, given the likelihood that he's not the only werewolf candidate -- but he's grateful. There are multiple tests: tests to assess stamina and agility, to judge weapon skills; written and oral tests to prove that he's studied the laws of Insomnia and the duties of a member of the Crownsguard. Prompto takes to spending his evenings studying with Ignis; he even brings some of his books to bed, though mostly he does that just to make Noctis complain about how he's not getting enough attention.

"Go sleep with one of your other boyfriends," Prompto tells him once, pretending to be absorbed in his reading, and Noctis attacks him with tickles until he gives in, laughing so hard that he can barely breathe.

He does put his studying on hold the day the Solstice tree is delivered. Noctis had apparently decided to go nuts with decorating, and the pine tree that's brought into the foyer is at least twice Gladio's height. Fortunately, the foyer itself is three stories tall and the tree fits with plenty of room to spare.

Prompto has always enjoyed the winter holidays in Insomnia. Everyone goes a little mad, putting up twinkling lights and pine boughs everywhere (most of them delivered at great expense from Tenebrae), and for a month the city feels caring and fuzzy and united in a way that's utterly superficial and unexpectedly heartfelt at the same time. His parents would put up a tiny artificial tree in their small living room--

Prompto shuts down the memory before it can finish and goes to find a stepladder so that he can help decorate.

* * *

Afterwards, Prompto isn't even sure he remembers most of his exams. Moments flash back into his head: running on the training track at the Citadel, someone in a Glaive uniform holding a stopwatch to time him; filling out a multiple-choice test while being asked questions unrelated to the ones he was answering; demonstrating his ability with his weapons of choice (he's still best with firearms, though Gladio's improved his use of other handheld weapons to some degree); even sparring with a couple other Glaives -- though he's relieved to see Nyx and Libertus, rather than Luche or one of his cronies, in the arena with him.

They wipe him out, of course, but he's happy with the fact that it takes them longer than thirty seconds.

With the examinations over, Prompto feels justified in collapsing in bed for a couple of days. That's all he can stand before he realizes he still has to buy Solstice presents for his pack, and so he asks Ignis to drive him over to the big shopping arcade south of the Citadel so that he can figure out what to get everyone. 

"When would you like me to pick you up?" Ignis asks, as he pulls up in the drop-off lane outside the building (an enormous four-story affair with beautiful glass ceilings, done up to the nines in holiday lights).

"Anytime you want, big boy," Prompto replies. He waggles an eyebrow, then, laughing, leans over to give Ignis a kiss before getting out of the car. "No, I'll take the train back and just walk from the stop. It's only a couple of blocks, Iggy, I'll be fine."

"You should have done this the other way 'round," Ignis says. "You won't want to walk all that way if you've been shopping all day and your arms are full of bags."

"Well, if I get tired, I'll call you." Prompto closes the car door behind him and turns around to smile at Ignis, who gives him a wry smile of acknowledgement before driving off. Smiling to himself, Prompto turns to face the arcade.

He's well familiar with the place: this is where he and Noctis came to play video games all the time after school, although that particular establishment is actually outside the shopping arcade proper, in a little strip plaza next door. Truth be told, despite the crowds and loud music, Prompto's kind of happy to spend a little time just wandering on his own, exploring and hopefully finding some fun gifts for the guys.

That attitude serves him well as he makes his way through one level, then another, of the arcade. Every shop is filled with shoppers, most of them looking tired if not downright annoyed as they search for that perfect gift for someone. Without a specific goal in mind, Prompto can wander through the shops at will, taking his time. He pauses in a sports store where all kinds of fishing supplies are sold: though he doesn't know much about Noctis's favorite hobby, he feels certain that Noctis has the most up-to-date rod and reel, and he _knows_ that lures and flies of every size and shape fill Noctis's tackle box. 

Said box, however, _is_ quite old and sadly unorganized, and Prompto decides on a new one, good-sized and full of handy compartments.

"You don't look like much of a fisher," the clerk comments as she scans the box in. 

Prompto gives her a flippant smile as he offers over his credit card. "No, but my m--my boyfriend is. Gonna clean out his old one and organize all his stuff for him."

"Oh, he'll _love_ that," the clerk replies, her own smile soft in return. "Hope you both have a great Solstice."

Prompto's grinning at that as he heads out of the store, the tackle box tucked in a bag slung over his arm. He'd almost slipped, but the clerk hadn't noticed: not that he thinks he'll get more than an odd look if he calls Noctis his mate in public, but he'd still rather play things safe. After all, out of the entire mob of people filling this arcade, maybe one or two of them are werewolves -- or he could even be the only one.

He's given up in a bookstore (a new cookbook would probably just be insulting to Ignis, who much prefers to figure out recipes for himself) when an odd scent catches his nose. He turns to see if he can tell where it's coming from, and then there's a yelp, followed by a scream -- and then several, spreading like wildfire from the lowest level of the arcade.

Prompto races to the railing at the inner edge of the level. All but the floor level are open in the center, so that one can see all the way down from the top to the bottom or vice versa. The center of the first floor is filled with kiosks and booths selling everything from ice cream and cotton candy to cheap cell phones and jewelry. Most of the space is packed with people: shoppers, parents with children, vendors, all of whom are crowding against each other in a surging wave towards the doors at the far end.

 _They're panicking_ , Prompto thinks with his heart in his throat. He pulls out his phone to call the police, then freezes when he sees what the crowd below him is trying to run from.

The creature is hard to make out from Prompto's angle and altitude, on the arcade's third floor. From here, he can see four legs and a great deal of fur, along with a bushy tail raised high. Prompto doesn't need visuals to tell what it is, though.

He races toward the escalators, pushing past shoppers and gawkers and a pair of teenage girls screaming their heads off. Almost on automatic, he frantically dials Noctis's number.

* * *

By the time his phone vibrates with a text that Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis have arrived, the police have already reached the scene. Prompto made it as far as the second level before realizing that they were trying to evacuate everyone in the building, while a couple of jerks with a net and some sort of loop on a pole from Animal Control are trying to corner an animal they've clearly underestimated.

Prompto's been hiding in a clothing store, tucking his bag from the sporting goods store out of view behind a display of leather jackets while he waited. As soon as the text message comes through, though, he heads out again (making a mental note of where he left Noctis's gift) and heads toward the back doors of the arcade. The emergency doors have been opened, but -- rather understandably -- no one's going out that way while the "rabid dog" stays close to that side of the building. Conveniently, this makes it easy for Noct's pack to enter through said doors.

Prompto meets them at the bottom of the stopped escalator. Noctis's eyes light up when he sees Prompto, and before he realizes what's happening, Prompto's engulfed by the arms of his pack, their comforting scents soothing and calming him. He hadn't realized how worried he was until now.

"It's OK, I promise, I'm fine," he tells the others when they let go of him. "I was on the third floor when people started flippin' their shit. C'mon."

The others have picked up the scent, too: "That's not a wolf I know," Ignis states, pushing his glasses up, as the four of them head toward where Animal Control is utterly failing to capture what is, without doubt, a fully-grown wolf. 

Prompto hasn't scented any true wolves, so he doesn't have a basis for comparison. Still, the fact that there _are_ no wolves outside of the Insomnia Royal Botanical Garden and Zoo -- far to the northern part of the city -- is a pretty dead giveaway that they're facing a werewolf. Plus, Prompto's still getting human scents off of it: fear, shame, a wild and potent smell of rage. His hackles are already up; beside him, he feels Gladio shiver a little with the effort to keep his form.

"We'll take over from here," Gladio says, and one of the Animal Control guys turns around.

"We got--" he starts to say, then trails off when he sees all six and a half feet of future Shield towering over him, amber eyes glaring like they could ignite someone at close range.

"R-right," the man says, with a visible shiver, and turns to the other man. "Rodney, c'mon, let them handle this."

"We can't let civilians handle a rabid animal," Rodney says, and jabs at the wolf with the lasso pole again.

Noctis grabs the pole out of Rodney's hands. Rodney looks at him and does the most comical double-take Prompto's ever seen. He barely gasps out a " _Y-your Highness_ \--" as he lets go of the pole and backs off. If _he_ was a wolf, his tail would be so far between his legs no one could even see it.

"Ignis," Noctis says. "How's the evacuation going?"

Ignis, further back from the others, turns back toward Noctis. "Nearly complete. The police are at the far doors now."

"Do me a favor and keep them occupied? I don't want anyone to see what's happening here."

"On it." Ignis jogs back toward the main doors, where the last of the crowds are being firmly ushered out now. Ignis has royal authority; the police won't question him.

Noctis turns his attention back to the wolf now. He holds the pole away from his body and drops it; it clatters on the floor, startlingly loud in the now nearly-empty arcade. The wolf's eyes turn to follow the sight, but it doesn't stop growling or lower its stiff, bushed-out tail.

"Hi," Noctis says, as if he's greeting a friend. He lowers to a squat, eyes on the wolf's level. "So, I know you're a human. It's OK to be scared right now. You don't know what's going on. That's OK."

Even from where he stands, a little behind Noctis and near Gladio, Prompto can smell the fear wafting off of the wolf. This wouldn't be a difficult deduction in any case: the wolf's tawny fur stands on end from nose to the tip of her tail. That's one thing Prompto can scent without needing to get up close for a personal inspection: this wolf is female. Not only that, but--

"Shit," Gladio says eloquently. "She's omega. About to go into heat. No wonder she's freaking out."

Noctis continues to talk in a low, soothing voice, his words rambling as he speaks of nothing in particular: how he's looking forward to Solstice, spending time with his family. Does she have a family she's getting gifts for? (Nearby, several paper bags have fallen in a heap, along with some clothes that no doubt belong to the woman.)

Gradually, the wolf begins to calm down. It takes some time, all the while Noctis keeps talking and Ignis keeps the cops at the far end of the arcade, wisely having turned them to face away so they won't see what's happening. Eventually, the wolf's head lowers fractionally. Noctis offers his hand, close enough for her to reach now. She extends her tongue for a tentative lick.

Out of nowhere, Prompto feels an unexpected surge of anger. That's _his_ alpha -- his _mate_ \-- whose knuckles she's nosing; to make matters worse, she's still exuding that scent of omega-heat-need. He takes a step forward. Gladio's hand catches his arm. "Don't," he snarls. It's too late. That growl ripples from the wolf again, and before Prompto can do anything, she bites down on Noctis's hand.

Noctis closes his mouth hard on a yelp. The copper-sweet scent of blood fills Prompto's nose, and something breaks in him. _She hurt Noctis_. Red rage clouds over his vision. He drops into his wolf form without even thinking about it, shaking out of clothes that now don't fit him at all, and goes for the other wolf.

"Prompto! Shit!" Gladio shouts, a second too late.

"I'm OK!" Noctis snaps. It doesn't matter. She _hurt_ Noctis. Nothing else matters but protecting his mate. Prompto knocks the wolf over -- she's stunned, she has no idea what's happening -- and immediately works into a better position so that he can close his jaws around her throat. From somewhere, he hears helpless whimpering.

"Prompto!" Gladio's roar overwhelms him. A moment later, Noctis is there, hauling on Prompto's shoulders in a vain attempt to pull him away. 

"I'm fine," Noctis tells him, murmuring into one big ear. "I'm OK, Prom, look at me, it's OK, everything's all right. You need to let go of her and change back. Come on, Prom, it's all right now. Let go, let go, here, yes, that's good, so much better..."

Somehow, Prompto makes his jaws relax. He doesn't move from where he's pinning the other wolf to the floor, but he manages to swallow, giving Noctis the most apologetic look he can. While he focuses on regaining his human form, Gladio goes to pick up the other wolf's clothes and bring them over, so that she won't have to walk around naked.

"I'm sorry," Prompto says as soon as he's back to himself. "I'm s-sorry, I couldn't stop myself--"

"It's OK," Noctis tells him. Prompto's t-shirt had stayed on, though it's ripped at the shoulder seams now, but his jeans came off almost at once. He wiggles back into them before he can be accused of public nudity, his face beet-red. "It happens with omegas," Noctis goes on. "They watch out for the pack, and when someone is threatened, especially an alpha or their mate..."

"They go berserker." Prompto remembers reading the phrase in one of the things Ignis sent him, but at the time, he couldn't imagine a situation that would incite a mindless rage in him. Apparently it doesn't take much at all. He stares at Noctis's hand, where the blood has already stopped flowing. "F-fucking Astrals," he says, and starts sobbing.

* * *

It doesn't take too much longer for Gladio to talk the wolf back into her human form. She seems as regretful about what happened as Prompto does; Gladio shields her as she puts her clothes on and wipes back tears. When Noctis asks her to come to the Citadel with them, she stares at him as if recognizing him for the first time, but then nods her head slowly.

Once Ignis has reassured the police that the problem is under control and Animal Control has regained their equipment (and Prompto has darted upstairs to reclaim Noctis's Solstice gift -- after everything else that happened today, he's not leaving without it), the five of them head out the back to where the Regalia awaits. The woman, who identifies herself as Senah Huston, is sits in the passenger seat, where she stares blankly out the window. Prompto curls himself on Noctis's lap and tries to calm down. Noctis presses kisses into his hair, while Gladio's big hand strokes a path of warmth up and down Prompto's back. If their passenger notices the activity in the back seat, she doesn't say anything.

By the time they reach the Citadel, Prompto's breathing has returned to normal. Ignis tries asking Senah a variety of questions -- has she been a werewolf all her life, does she have family in the area -- to no avail. (They'd rescued her purchases, too, stashing them in the Regalia's trunk for now.) Senah is mute, either in shock or fright: her scent reads of both, and there's clearly no easy way to reassure her.

"Wh-what's going to happen to her?" Prompto asks Noctis, in the barest whisper he can manage. Despite his best effort, he sees the woman's head turn a fraction of an inch. She may be new to her wolf senses, but she's clearly taking to them.

"We have to find out what happened," Noctis replies. "She'll be safe. We've got people who'll take care of her and make sure nothing bad happens."

Prompto bites his lip. "If there's anything I can do..."

Noctis's smile is soft, and he kisses Prompto's temple. "You're seriously too nice, Prom."

"I feel responsible," Prompto says, but he's smiling despite the madness of the day.

At the Citadel, Senah seems to come back to herself a little. They go in through one of the private entrances; Ignis offers his arm to Senah, who blinks at him but then shakes her head, walking on her own power behind Gladio, with Noctis and Prompto bringing up the rear. Prompto's never been to the floor where the elevator stops, but from the luxurious appointments, it could be some kind of residence for visiting dignitaries.

"I-- I don't know if I can do this," Senah says abruptly. Prompto turns to see her still in the elevator, holding on to the rail that runs around the interior of the elevator cab. "This doesn't make any -- any _sense_. What's going on? Why am I here?"

Noctis steps forward, but Prompto puts a hand out to stop him. Reluctantly, Noctis stays in place, only keeping an arm up to hold the elevator door open. With a nod, Prompto steps forward, careful to give Senah plenty of space.

"This happened really fast, I know," he says, in the most calm voice he can manage. "It kind of happened that way for me, too."

"Y-you're the one that jumped on me." Senah flattens against the elevator wall.

Prompto holds up his hands. "That was a mistake," he says. ( _Understatement of the century_.) "And I'm really, truly sorry that I did that. My, my instincts took over for a second. I swear to you I won't do that again. I'll stay right here, OK? I won't come any closer."

He waits until she nods. Again, it's the barest fraction of movement, but it's something. Prompto leans against the opening of the elevator, as much to help keep the doors from closing as anything, and puts his hands in his pockets. "My name's Prompto, by the way," he says. "Prompto Argentum. You know Noct, there--" He bobs his head toward Noctis, who holds up his other hand. "The big guy's Gladiolus Amicitia, and our friend with the specs is Ignis Scientia."

"You-- the royal entourage," Senah blurts out. "Of course I know who you all are. Are you. Are you all l--like that-- like--"

"Like you and me?" Prompto asks. "Yeah, we are. And you're safe here. You're not being kidnapped, OK? We're not gonna... I don't know, make you disappear or anything."

Senah's throat works hard, and Prompto sees her lips move around a shape that might be a name. A husband or wife? A child? He swallows in sympathy. "I know everything is confusing as hell right now," he goes on. "Something happened to you, and we don't know exactly what. But we want to find out so that we can get you back to your life. How does that sound? You have someone waiting at home? Someone you were getting Solstice gifts for?"

She nods, short brown hair bobbing around her face. "My kids. I can't. I need to get home to them."

"OK." Prompto slowly takes a hand out of his pocket and offers it to her. "Why don't you come out of there, and we'll sit down and talk. I'll get you some water, maybe some tea? You like tea?"

"Coffee," Senah says on a hiccup, and Prompto scents rather than sees Ignis's faint amusement. "Coffee would be fucking _fantastic _right now."__

__"Coffee it is," Prompto says. Senah's shaking hand closes on his, and he gently urges her out of the elevator._ _


	6. Chapter 6

Ignis had phoned ahead, so they're met almost at once by a pair of Kingsglaives: Prompto recognizes Nyx Ulric and Crowe Altius from the training arena. They introduce themselves to Senah, but as Crowe reaches for the woman's elbow to guide her down the hall, she shakes her head.

"I don't know either of you," she says. "I want him to come with me. Them." She turns her head toward Prompto, her grey eyes beginning to round with fright once more. Her hair, a short mass of dark brown curls, is still a mess after the earlier altercation; tiny braids quiver where they hang before each ear, in the Galahdian fashion.

"Uh," Nyx says, and Prompto steps forward.

"It's all right." Prompto glances at Noctis, who shrugs and nods. Ignis's and Gladio's scents shift to approval: they'll back Prompto's play. "I want to help."

Crowe shrugs. "Fine with me," she says.

Senah eases, relaxes a little; Prompto's once again reminded, as her scent shifts, that she's close to heat. It's wrong: it's nowhere near the full moon. That gives him another reason to want to be near her. There are four alphas surrounding Senah now, and despite the rigid control they're all taught, an unscheduled heat could wreak havoc on even the strongest alpha's restraint.

Nyx leads the way down the hall to a nearby room, where wide soft couches and armchairs are arranged in loose groupings. As in most rooms of the Citadel, huge windows on one wall display the city below them; Senah drifts toward the bank of windows almost at once, at least until a cough stops her. 

"Ma'am," says Cor Leonis, who's been standing unobtrusively by one of the couches. A serving tray is already set up on the table there, with a steaming urn from which the delectable aroma of fresh coffee drifts. Senah startles, turning toward Cor with a hand to her heart.

"Marshal Cor Leonis," Cor introduces himself, bowing briefly to her. "If you'd like to have a seat over here--"

"What's going to happen to me?" Senah asks. Her voice is still a little shaky. "You keep saying I'll be safe, but I don't understand anything. I want an explanation and I want it now."

Prompto hangs back by the door; Noctis, Ignis and Gladio are close by, and Nyx and Crowe flank them. He wonders how this all must look to Senah, the group of them all watching her. If it were him, he'd want to run from all the eyes pinning him down. Cor Leonis, however, just gives one of his long-suffering sighs and moves to the sofa. He sits, reaching for a mug and pouring coffee into it. Then he pours a second mug, leaving this one further away from him like an offering. (Or, Prompto muses, like bait.)

Without really thinking about it, Prompto moves over to one of the adjacent sofas and sits. Noctis trails after him, and Ignis and Gladio, as if freed by their movement, make their way to another nearby grouping of chairs. Noctis settles next to Prompto, reaching almost absently for his hand: Prompto sees Senah's eyes widen at the casual contact.

Timid as a deer, Senah approaches, finally settling into an armchair. She reaches for the coffee Cor poured for her and cradles the mug in her palms.

Cor nods. "That's better. Senah -- Ms. Huston -- I'm sure this has all been a great shock to you, but I'm afraid it's not quite over yet. I need to be a little blunt with you, and I'm sorry, but -- if you haven't realized by now -- you are a werewolf."

Senah makes a scoffing sound, faint; her eyes dart over toward Ignis, as if recalling the word brought up in the car earlier. "That can't be," she says. Her voice is faint. "Werewolves don't exist. That's... that's something out of a horror movie."

"It's real," Prompto says softly. Senah's gaze flickers toward him, then back to her coffee.

"And... you're all werewolves, too," she says, as if trying to convince herself of the fact. "Is everyone here--?"

"My father is," Noctis says. "It's been part of the Lucian line since time out of mind. Not everyone who serves us is, though. We keep it secret, for, uh, obvious reasons."

"Like a secret society," Senah says, managing a weak laugh. "And what about the rest of Lucis? What about Accordo and Tenebrae and the rest of Eos? Do they have werewolves everywhere?"

"A small percentage of the population of Lucis are werewolves, yes," Cor says. "As far as we know, we're everywhere except Niflheim." Prompto blinks at that, glancing in confusion at Noctis, but Cor goes on, oblivious to Prompto's reaction. "Normally, we don't see werewolves appearing out of nowhere, the way you seem to have changed today. Either you're born of a line of wolves, to a known family -- and we keep records, believe me -- or you're bitten and changed that way. And the King only gives permission in very specific cases to keep numbers low."

Senah's eyes have begun to glaze over again; Prompto watches her, concerned about whether shock is setting in once more. "But I wasn't bitten," she says softly. "I was just doing my Solstice shopping."

"You don't remember anything unusual?" Cor hasn't touched his coffee; his hands remain clasped between his knees as he watches Senah. 

Senah begins to shake. The coffee mug tumbles from her hands and smashes on the gleaming marble floor. Droplets of coffee scatter over her skirt and blouse, but she doesn't even seem to notice or feel them.

From their position by the door, Crowe and Nyx take a simultaneous step forward, Crowe's hands already up in a spellcasting position, but Cor waves them away. The moment the mug fell, he was on his feet, and he kneels by Senah's chair now; Prompto's up as well, while Ignis has already turned to find a towel for Senah.

"What happened, Senah?" Prompto asks. Her eyes track up and meet his.

"There was a man pushing through the crowd. I don't remember where he came from. I didn't see him until he -- until he practically fell right on me. He, he tripped or something." Her voice is faint, the scent of fear rising off her. "And he mumbled something about being sorry because he knocked all my bags out of my hands. I--I went to pick them up and he -- he jabbed me with something. It felt like it fucking set my skin on fire."

Her hand drags up the hem of her skirt, and for a moment Prompto wants to turn away -- _What is she doing?! She's not getting naked, is she?!_ \-- until he sees the skin just above her knee is inflamed and red. A deep puncture mark shows in the flesh of her thigh.

"And then I don't remember anything until I saw you," she says. "There's just this blank. Everything went black. And then you were there talking to me." Her gaze finds first Noctis, then Prompto.

Ignis has arrived with a towel by now, but Cor shakes his head, warning him back with no more than a level glance. "Do you remember anything about this man? What he looked like?"

Senah closes her eyes. "He had dirty blond hair," she says. "And sort of a weasely face. Just normal clothes. I thought he was drunk, really, until he, until he stabbed me. Do you know what it was? Do you know what he did?"

Cor inhales deeply. "At a guess, Ms. Huston," he says, "I believe someone's found a new way to make werewolves."

* * *

After some debate, Cor's settled on a counseling team to help Senah Huston ease into her new life. There'll have to be therapy and some intense education to bring her up to speed on the details of being a werewolf; she'll have to start suppressants immediately to block the unscheduled heat; her husband will have to be brought into the loop as well, in order to understand the changes she's going through. 

"At least her children won't be werewolves," Ignis points out. 

"Yeah, I'm sure it's a great comfort to her," Gladio says.

"Your father's been heading up this investigation." Cor, having finished his quiet phone conversation, now turns to Gladio, while Crowe Altius leads Senah from the room with Nyx Ulric behind them. They're headed for a medical level where Senah will begin to learn about the changes that have happened to her body; she'd finally agreed to try and describe the man who injected her with whatever made her a werewolf.

Gladio blinks, eyebrows raised. "Dad didn't tell me about an investigation."

"I'm not surprised," Cor says. "He's trying to keep all of this quiet. No good will come of it if people start panicking about wild animals loose inside the Wall. But Senah's the third person we've found -- and the first one who survived, thanks to your omega."

"Our omega has a name," Ignis says tightly.

"Sorry. Force of habit. Prompto." Cor nods to Prompto, who's helping Noct pick up shards of ceramic mug. Prompto blinks up at Cor, wide-eyed: _he knows my name?_ "At any rate," Cor continues, "the other two were taken down -- one by Animal Control, one by a Glaive who isn't one of us."

"Shit," Gladio swears. "Why didn't Dad let me in on this? We could have helped."

"Your pack is still young." Cor looks to Noctis now, who stands, brushing dust from his knees. "You're still bonding. Besides, this is a concern for--"

"Adults?" Noctis manages to keep most of the annoyance out of his tone, but it comes through in his scent anyway.

"The King and his pack," Cor finishes. "Unauthorized creation of werewolves is a serious offense. The perpetrator must answer to the King, as Alpha of all Lucis. And, yes, half of you haven't reached the age of majority yet. The King wouldn't put you, his only heir, into dangerous situations without cause."

Noctis inhales, but Ignis puts a hand on his shoulder. "If I may. Marshal, we respect your authority, naturally. However, having aided in this situation, it feels frustrating to be told now that we must stand back and do nothing. Perhaps there's another way we could lend our aid?"

"What he said," Gladio puts in. Prompto sets the dustpan full of ceramic shards on the table and comes over to join the others, his arm slipping around Noctis's waist.

"I have to start learning how to lead sometime," Noctis says. "Even if that means shadowing Dad."

Cor's eyes go thoughtful for a long moment, and then he nods. "Very well. I believe there is a way you may be able to help the investigation."

* * *

An hour later, Prompto's beginning to regret the way Ignis so casually volunteered their services. Cor's brought them to a big open room on one of the security floors, this one only a couple levels above the lobby. Much of the space is taken up with desks and monitors that show security feeds from all over the Citadel, as well as one wall of nothing but filing cabinets and another covered in shelves stuffed with file folders; Prompto can't help but gawk as Cor leads them to a separate room where several tables are grouped together. A smaller team of people -- nearly all wolves, Prompto can tell instantly from their scents -- appear to be perusing security camera footage from the shopping arcade today, as well as from some other places Prompto doesn't immediately recognize.

"We've been analyzing footage from the locations where the wolves were found," Cor says, once the door is closed behind them. A woman with short brown hair and a Crownsguard uniform looks up from one monitor, an eyebrow raised; Cor nods to her, and she resumes her frame-by-frame scanning of some alley in what looks like the lower slums of Insomnia, one of the worst parts of the city despite the King's attempts to clean the area up. 

"Monica Elshett, here," Cor goes on, indicating the brown-haired woman, "has probably spent the most time so far with the footage. So far, while we've got estimated times and locations of when the other two wolves were made, we've been unable to put our fingers on security feeds for those places."

Gladio grunts. "That's convenient."

"A little too convenient," Cor agrees, nodding. 

He sets them all up at adjacent workstations, indicating the footage they've combed through and what hasn't been looked at yet. "I know it'll be boring," he says, "but if nothing else, you'll be able to help us weed out some things. Ignis, I know you have duties--"

"I can help for a little while," Ignis says, gracefully, as if the idea of spending hours upon hours staring at slowed-down security camera footage doesn't instantly repel him. Noctis stares at Ignis as if utterly betrayed; Ignis merely raises an eyebrow in return. Prompto can practically see the amusement and annoyance in Ignis's look: Noctis could get out of it if he truly wanted to attend Council meetings and deal with royal duties.

Next to Noctis, Prompto smothers a laugh and turns to his own display as Cor sets up feeds for all of them.

* * *

Ignis, as it turns out, gets called away earlier than expected, but he does return a little while later with snacks and drinks for all of them -- not just for the pack, but everyone in the room as well. Murmurs of appreciation rise and Ignis basks in the compliments for a few moments before slipping out again.

After a couple of tedious, quiet hours, Gladio stands, declaring that his eyes are burning from staring at a monitor for so long. "Besides," he adds, "I got a schedule. Training and all. I'll be back later."

"Go on," Noctis says in resigned dismissal. Gladio's scent radiates boredom and the desperate need to be anywhere but sitting still, staring at a screen. He does have other duties as well, and Prompto glances at him as he goes, wishing he too had some excuse to leave.

Under the table where he sits next to Noctis, a warm hand rests on his thigh. Prompto smiles briefly, lets his own hand drop to cover his mate's. There certainly is one perk to staying.

* * *

Ignis returns later to collect them; after several hours, they're no closer to finding any footage that might help them, but others are also changing shifts and fresh eyes might find something they haven't. Prompto volunteers to return in the morning; Cor raises an eyebrow in apparent surprise, but turns to Monica to make arrangements for Prompto's security clearance.

The work isn't exactly exciting; Prompto finds himself drinking more coffee than usual just to stay awake as he pokes, frame by frame, through security tapes from the night of the incident or from the other places. As well, Cor has expanded the search, having identified other curious happenings as possibly being werewolf-related: a couple of men reported missing last month, a woman who stumbled naked out of the forested area to the south of the city after having disappeared for a week, battered and bruised and remembering nothing of the previous several days.

When he finally sees the face, Prompto nearly passes it over. He's already moved past it when something goes _ding_ somewhere in his brain, and he scrolls back hastily through the reviewed footage.

This particular moment is from one of the many overhead cameras at the shopping arcade from which they'd pulled recordings. Most of the immediate images around the moment of the incident had had to be eliminated; they'd managed to narrow the subject down to a man with short, light-colored hair, of average height and a build that could only be described as "not overweight", due to the overcoat he wore. Prompto had picked this particular footage today, several days into his work with the investigating team, only because it had somehow not been reviewed yet. The tapes had been mislabeled or something.

Now, though, Prompto pauses on a frame and stares at the face. The man is almost right behind Senah, and a gray smear of something is in his left hand. A syringe, maybe? Prompto moves to the next frame, then the next, watching the man move so smoothly he'd be a blur if the footage was running at full speed. The jab of the syringe (if that's what it is) happens almost between one frame and the next. In one moment, the hand is arcing down towards Senah's thigh; in the next, he's already away from her.

And his face is toward the camera.

"Cor," Prompto says. He tries to keep his voice calm, but his scent is uncontrollable: he knows Cor can read the instant terror in Prompto's mood, because Cor is right next to him, leaning one hand on the desk and exuding the _be-calm_ attitude of a beta at their finest.

"Fucking Astrals," says Cor Leonis. "I don't fucking believe it."

* * *

Cor notifies Clarus Amicitia immediately. When the King's Shield sweeps into the room, everyone there nods their heads in the briefest formal gesture: they've continued their work, even though a face has been identified.

"Show me," Clarus says without any further ado, and Prompto moves out of the way. Clarus doesn't sit, but rather stands behind the chair to stare at the image, which has been enhanced to the best of their limited ability. Seeing it, Clarus closes his eyes briefly and says something under his breath. Then he sweeps from the room.

Cor nods to Monica, then waves to Prompto. "With me," he says, and Prompto swallows hard and hurries after the Marshal while the others in the room collapse into chairs or against desks, as if breathing out for the first time in days.

* * *

Someone called the rest of the pack, because Ignis meets them at the elevators, and by the time they reach the royal apartments, Noctis has sent a text that he and Gladio will meet them there. Prompto only allows himself the briefest of acknowledgements in return. It's all the time he has before they're entering the big room of King Regis's private apartment.

The King himself is dressed as formally as ever; he stands from the table where he's apparently been working today when the doors open. "Clarus?"

"Your Majesty," Clarus replies, as formal as if they're in the throne room before the public. "We've learned who administered the unknown substance which has been making new werewolves."

Regis's eyebrow goes up. It's the only outward indication that he knows he won't like what he's about to hear. "And?" he prompts.

Clarus's eyes burn. "The tapes appear to show one of our own Kingsglaive: Luche Lazarus."

To his credit, Regis doesn't flinch. (Then again, Prompto's sure the king has had to learn how to keep his expressions from showing since he was a child.) He does let out a quiet sigh, while Prompto scents something like resignation and disappointment -- a stark contrast to the anger rolling off of Clarus.

"Bring him to me," is all Regis says.

* * *

An hour later, the throne room doors open. Luche Lazarus, flanked by three more of his fellow Kingsglaives (Nyx and Crowe again, along with Libertus Ostium), enters the room, looking vaguely disgruntled. He'd been out on patrol on the eastern wall of Insomnia; Nyx had reported in that Luche had told them to, as he so eloquently put it, "shove off" when informed that he was ordered to report back to the Citadel immediately. Only when they got Clarus on the phone to reinforce the order did Luche sulkily agree to go back with them.

Even if he hadn't done anything else, Prompto thinks, there ought to be some kind of disciplinary actions. A person shouldn't just get to shrug off orders from their superiors with no consequence.

While they were waiting for Luche to come in, Noctis and Gladio had arrived; they had been training outside, and both had grabbed hasty showers before coming up to the throne room. Gladio's hair was still wet, brushed back hastily, while Noctis's was drying into messy clumps. Prompto found a comb to quickly style his mate's hair so that he'd look presentable before the main event.

Now, Luche walks up to the throne and stops at the base of the stairs, where Regis sits on his throne. "Your Majesty," he says, one arm across his chest to deliver a formal bow. 

"Luche Lazarus," Regis replies. "We must speak with you about matters most urgent."

"Sire?" Luche somehow produces a look of surprise. Prompto catches a hint of panic in his watery blue eyes.

"What were you doing four nights ago at approximately seven o'clock in the evening?"

Regis's interrogatory tone clearly catches Luche off-guard. "Uh. I--I was off-duty, sire, I don't recall where I was at that specific time. I think I went to see a movie?"

Regis waves a hand; Cor steps forward with a tablet. On the screen, frozen, is an image captured from the security footage: Luche himself, his blond hair slicked back, arm blurred in the motion as it aims a syringe at Senah Huston's thigh.

Luche blanches. "Wh-what is this?" he asks.

"Be honest with us and you may yet live," Regis says. His voice is calm, but Prompto scents the annoyance in him -- annoyance that will rise to anger if Luche continues to lie. Which he is. Even though he's human, he gives off betraying scents of fear and panic. 

"We know you injected this woman with a substance that propitiated certain changes in her," Clarus says. "Further, we have reason to believe you were also involved in other incidents which resulted in the loss of the lives of innocent Insomnians. Security tapes have been altered and deleted. Explain yourself, Luche Lazarus."

To Prompto's left, Gladio trembles, barely enough to be noticeable. Prompto reaches to rest a hand on Gladio's wrist. He understands why Gladio is upset: Luche has broken an oath to protect the citizens of Lucis. Having seen firsthand the effects of the treachery, Prompto wants to see justice done, too. 

"Certain changes," Luche echoes, his voice faint now. "Guess we're pussyfooting around it now, aren't we?" His tone is sarcastic, any respect for the throne drained out of it. "Or are we gonna keep pretending I don't know what you are? What all of you are?" His glance briefly takes in the group standing off to his side, Noctis and his pack, then Clarus and Cor on the other side. 

"You've been informed, then? Or did you learn this on your own?" Cor takes a step forward; Clarus sets a restraining hand on the Marshal's shoulder. At the doors to the throne room, Nyx and his pack shift subtly into more prepared stances. Luche may not be a wolf, but he does have all the powers of a duly-appointed Kingsglaive.

Luche shakes his head, then starts to laugh. "You don't even know, do you? You sit up there, all high and mighty like you know what's best for everyone in Lucis, when you can't even protect the people beyond the Wall--"

"You will mind your tongue when you speak to the King," Clarus snaps.

"You take in these -- these _special_ refugees," Luche continues, ignoring Clarus. "You put -- you put _them_ in positions of power over Lucians who _deserve_ the chance to serve their country--"

Regis shifts in his throne. To an outsider, it might appear that he's made uncomfortable by Luche's words. Prompto knows better, though. The wolf inside Regis is waiting, calm, for its prey to make one wrong move.

"Bad enough you've got a commoner playing at being a Crownsguard so he can spend time with his prince boyfriend," Luche goes on. This time, it's Ignis and Gladio who go stiff-shouldered, while Noctis opens his mouth to protest. Prompto grabs Noctis's arm, even though he can't stop the hot swell of anger that rises in his own throat.

"If you're finished." Regis's voice cuts through Luche's tirade, solemn and sounding about a thousand percent done. Luche clearly isn't, but he sucks in a sharp gulp of air and subsides. 

"You never answered the question," Clarus points out.

Luche's eyes flash defiance. "I'm loyal. You won't get it out of m--"

There's a sudden growl from Prompto's left, a faint shift in the air, and then Gladio's on all fours. The transformation happens between one breath and the next; he'd already dropped his shirt, and he steps out of the loose training pants he'd put on after his earlier shower. A massive wolf, fully tall as Luche's elbow at the shoulders, paces forward, claws ticking on the marble floor of the throne room.

Luche Lazarus lets out a yelp of shock and stumbles backward. He falls to his ass on the intricately woven carpet that lines the center of the room. Gladio, an intimidatingly large wolf under any circumstance, must look now like a nightmare to Luche with his black fur and glowing amber eyes. He paces around Luche, who's trying to scramble away from him but not getting very far.

Gladio lets out a rippling growl, and Luche shouts. "Oh my gods, fucking Astrals, it's real, get it away from me, what the fuck--"

"Gladio," Clarus says. There's no reprimand in his voice, only the faintest amusement. "Stop intimidating the poor man."

Gladio turns his muzzle towards his father with a clear look of sorrow, then settles down on the carpet, for all the world a huge dog looking to be petted. After a moment, he rolls over on his back, tongue lolling out of his jaws and feet up in the air.

Prompto smothers a laugh, while Noct has to turn away before he breaks out laughing. Luche just looks bewildered, gaze torn between the snickering prince and the wolf rolling around on the carpet behind him.

"Gladio, that's enough," Noct calls at last. "Stop shedding all over the carpet."

Luche's eyes finally track back up to the king, who's still sitting in an apparently relaxed pose on the throne. The slightest smile teases at the corners of his mouth. "Would you care to revise your statement?" Regis asks, and while he may look amused, his eyes are dark with promise. 

Luche swallows and nods at last. He manages to get to his knees, but stays there, bowing his head before his king.

"I was given the order by Captain Drautos," he says. "And he has orders from Niflheim." As breaths catch around the room, Luche goes on, "Where he's known as General Glauca."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buckle in, everyone.

The bombshell of a revelation dropped by Luche Lazarus echoes in the throne room long after Cor and the Kingsglaives have taken Luche away to put him in custody. Regis stood as they dragged out the traitorous Glaive; then, with the help of his cane, he made his way down to the wide audience dais, joining the rest of them. Since then, he's been pacing the floor, cane clacking on marble with every uneasy step.

Prompto sits on one of the divided staircases that circle up to the throne. Noctis sits near him, while Gladio (who's gone back to his human form and reclothed himself, to Prompto's dismay) and Ignis stand near Clarus Amicitia. The tapping of Regis's cane echoes in the chamber, the only sound in the room for quite some time; Prompto begins to fidget, and Noctis takes his hand to still him.

Finally, Regis comes to a halt, drawing himself up in place. He shakes his head, clearly unsettled -- and just as clearly unsure of how to proceed.

"Drautos," he says. "I've trusted him with some of our most intimate state secrets. I've never once had cause to doubt his selection as Captain of the Kingsglaive."

"We must change the codes for the Crystal Chamber immediately," Clarus says. Ignis produces a PDA from a pocket and begins taking notes.

"We can't just bring him into custody," Gladio says. "He's gonna know the second we walk up to him."

"If he's truly an agent of Niflheim, we need to acquire all possible information from him. Who acts as his contact, how does he receive orders." Regis has gone still now, eyes dark and resigned. "We must act with caution."

Clarus inhales, then looks around. His glances takes in the vast empty space of the throne room. Even whispers chase themselves in the enormous chamber: it was designed to carry sound to every corner, for the King's proclamations to be heard by all.

Regis sighs. "I take your point. Let us resume this conversation in the royal apartments. Noctis," he says, and Noctis jumps to his feet. "You and your pack have done more than enough to help already. You should go home."

"But--" Noctis begins to protest, and Regis shakes his head, holding up a hand.

"I understand your eagerness. However, we will not make any moves tonight, and certainly not until we have a plan. Go home, son." Regis's voice is kind, but firm. "You've done enough for one day."

Noctis's shoulders slump, but he nods obediently. Regis turns to Prompto next, startling him; Prompto had been about to hop to his feet anyway, but with the King's sight on him, he nearly stumbles off the step. Thankfully, Gladio's there to catch his elbow before he falls, and he swallows hard and gives Regis a short bow. These days, at least, being around the alpha who oversees all of Lucis's packs is no longer as intimidating as it was the first time Prompto met him; his alpha scent is paternal, now that Prompto's settled into his bond with Noctis and his own pack. Even so, hanging around the King of Lucis is unfamiliar territory for Prompto.

"Sire?" he says.

"Cor informed me that you were the one who spent a great deal of time looking through some very dull security footage and located Luche in it. I wanted to thank you personally, on behalf of the wolves of Lucis," Regis says. "Not to mention the people who have been hurt by this scheme. With any luck, we'll be able to stop any further tragedies from occurring."

"Uh." Prompto's brain stops working for a moment; then he manages to remember formality. "It was my honor as a Crownsguard to be able to help in any way that I could."

He bows again; when he looks up this time, Regis is smiling. "My son has chosen well," he murmurs, and that's the part that makes Prompto swallow hard. Praise from the King is one thing; a father's approval -- that's nearly more than Prompto can bear. Somehow, he makes his mouth smile. Regis's hand presses to his shoulder for a moment, a benediction, and then he releases both him and Noctis.

"Now go, all of you," he says. "Solstice is almost here. We should try and enjoy it before we deal with other matters."

Prompto bobs his head, bowing again before stepping back; Noctis has hold of his hand now, all but dragging him down the steps of the dais and out the doors of the throne room.

Once they're in the corridor, Noctis laughs a little, bringing his arm up around Prompto's waist. "See? I told you he approves of you."

"I kn-know," Prompto says, and wipes a hand across his cheeks. "You said. I believed you."

"It's another thing entirely to hear the words for oneself and know their truth," Ignis adds. He and Gladio follow almost on Prompto's and Noctis's heels. 

"You're part of the family now," Gladio adds. "He might not be your biological dad, but he'll still do everything for you."

Prompto tries not to think about the man he called father for eighteen years. "I know," he says instead.

* * *

He has some last-minute Solstice shopping to do the next day, so he elects to take the train over to the shopping district to finish up. Ignis offers to drive him, but he's one of the people Prompto still has to get a gift for, so Prompto regretfully declines. 

Besides, he has another stop to make.

He'd bought a gift for his parents earlier in the week, while looking for something for Gladio. Dad had been talking for a while about starting a garden in the tiny backyard, so when Prompto saw the "E-Z-Gro" tomato kit, he thought it might be the perfect kickstart they needed. It'd be easy to take care of, and Mom loved homegrown tomatoes.

The first thing he notices is that there's no name on the mailbox. Where the letters 'Argentum' had been for his entire lifetime, in shiny reflective silver, only a gooey blur remains. The metal mailbox looks like it's been scraped hastily clean of letters, though the house's street number is still there

Nervous, Prompto rings the bell. He's not terribly surprised that there's no answer -- his parents both worked long hours and extra shifts for as far back as he could remember. What does surprise him is when he turns the doorknob and finds it open.

His childhood house is empty. Not a stick of furniture remains; the walls are bare, the cupboards and pantry empty. His parents' room has been cleaned so thoroughly that the only evidence of a former life there is the indentations in the carpet where furniture stood. His former room is likewise empty, except for a scrap of paper on the floor. He doesn't need to pick it up. He recognizes the note he left before he climbed out the window and left.

Prompto sits there for a little while. He doesn't know how long. Eventually, he rubs the backs of his hands against his eyes, sniffles hard, and pushes to his feet again. He leaves the wrapped present on the floor and walks out of the house for the last time.

* * *

Solstice has always been one of Prompto's favorite seasons. This year, he can't seem to summon the enthusiasm for it. He's gotten all his shopping done, at least, and his gifts rest among several others under the manor's gigantic tree: the soft blinking lights shine off wrapping paper and ribbons, the sort of image Prompto's used to seeing in television ads or toy catalogs.

The evening beforehand is usually when Lucians celebrate together with a big dinner (prime garula rib is on Ignis's menu, Prompto knows), and the scent of rich meat cooking permeates the house, all the way up to the master bedroom where Prompto lays in bed, poking idly at his phone. Gladio's out getting some last-minute supplies for dinner; Noctis has disappeared to another part of the house, presumably to wrap a gift or two in privacy. While Prompto normally would go seeking his mate out, right now he feels more like being alone. The room is lit only by a string of white lights Noctis put up earlier in the week, their soft glow over the headboard giving the room a warmth that Prompto likes; he's already thinking he's not going to let Noctis take them down.

Prompto isn't unhappy, as such. At least, he doesn't think he is. He's certainly not _un_ happy about how his life has changed so dramatically in the past half a year since finding out he was a werewolf. And it wasn't just that; he entered into a new, secret society, discovered his omega nature that destined him to be Noct's mate and the omega for his pack. He'd moved out of his parents' house, even if that event was still surrounded by questions that continue to bother him. (How was he triggered into his first heat? Did that have anything to do with the serum Luche was using to inject random people around Insomnia? Why did his parents try to imprison him after learning he was dating Noctis? Where are they now? Why did they just disappear? Did they know what he was?) Even more, he'd attended a formal ball and met other werewolves; he'd become a member of the Crownsguard; he'd met the King and his Shield and the Marshal. He'd fallen in love, body and soul, with Noctis and Gladio and Ignis. 

There's been a lot of change in Prompto's life in the past six months. He doesn't know if things are going to steady out now, but he hopes so. He still has worries and fears: how _will_ Noctis have an heir, will there be a marriage, what role will Prompto have in his mate's life -- but he's trying not to think too hard about them.

The door cracks open, and Prompto sits up, blinking in the brighter light that spills in from the hallway. He doesn't have to guess; even though the tall figure is nothing but a silhouette in the light, Prompto knows by scent that it's Ignis, and that the mug in his hand is full of steaming hot chocolate.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Ignis says.

"No, 'course not." Prompto reaches for the light on the nightstand and flips it on. Ignis wears an apron over a button-down and trousers; the apron is liberally dusted with flour and has some other spots that speak to his activities in the kitchen. His hands are clean, however, as is the gleaming white mug.

"You've been up here for a long time," Ignis says, and comes into the room to sit down on the bed by Prompto. Predictably, he fishes a coaster out of a pocket and sets it down on the nightstand before placing the mug there as well. "I thought you might like something comforting to drink."

Prompto's smile wobbles a little. It's such a thoughtful thing to do -- such an _Ignis_ thing to do. Pushing to sit upright against the headboard, Prompto accepts the mug from Ignis. The cocoa is hot, but not so much that he can't take a sip, and he hums in pleasure. It feels like a little kid thing, enjoying hot chocolate on a cold day after he's been feeling down, but somehow he doesn't mind. He can use the comfort.

"Would you like to come downstairs and help me with the baking?" Ignis asks after a little while of companionable silence. "I'm just finishing up with the cookie dough."

"Sure," Prompto says, and finds he means it.

* * *

He and Ignis are just finishing up frosting the cookies, moving them from cooling racks to clean plates, when they hear the front door swing open. Gladio's scent wafts in from the foyer, mingled with the chill of frosty air: it's supposed to snow tonight. Even though snow is more of a pain these days, Prompto still looks forward to the first flakes that, for him, truly signal the winter season.

Gladio comes into the kitchen, shivering a little as he pulls off his heavy coat; he sets down a couple of bags on the island, filled with whatever it was Ignis had asked him to get. "Fuck, everything smells _incredible_ ," he says as he comes around to where Prompto sits at the island, dropping a kiss on his hair; then he leans in to kiss Ignis on the mouth. "Is dinner almost ready?"

"Just about." Ignis smiles up into the kiss, then smacks Gladio's hand as it reaches for a freshly-frosted cookie. "Those are for tomorrow. Don't you dare."

"Ignis and I worked super hard on these," Prompto points out. "I want Noct to at least see them before you eat 'em all."

"Besides, you'll ruin your appetite," Ignis says primly.

"Jeesh, you sound like my mom." Gladio snorts, but he steps back from the island and turns to the cabinet where the plates and bowls are kept. "I'll go set the table?"

"Are we eating?" Noct comes into the kitchen, smelling of pine branches; he must have been putting the fruits of his labor under the tree. Prompto turns toward him like an iron filing to true north. Noctis doesn't even seem to pay attention to the way he comes over to Prompto, settling his arms around Prompto's shoulders from behind and nosing briefly into his hair. "Mmm, you smell like hot chocolate."

"We are. Eating, that is," Ignis says, while Prompto only smiles and leans back in his mate's arms. Whatever else may be happening, for this moment, everything is all right.

When Noctis pulls away from him, Prompto twists in confusion, only to see a frown darkening Noct's face as he takes his urgently buzzing phone out of his pocket. "What's Dad calling me for?" he asks, rhetorical; Noct answers and lifts the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"

Something cold sinks into Prompto's gut. Noct's scent shifts from relaxed contentment to concern, then to fear, making Prompto shake a little. Nearby, Ignis has bent to take the prime rib out of the oven; he stands slowly, radiating tension, bumping the oven door closed with his hip and turning to place the tray on waiting hotpads. Prompto can't hear much of the conversation: Regis is speaking quickly, his voice low and steady, but Prompto picks out one name that makes him suck in a scared breath.

"Right," Noctis says. "We're coming." Before Regis can apparently tell him otherwise, Noct ends the call and turns to the others, stuffing his phone back into his pocket; Gladio's stepped back into the room now, hands still full of plates and silverware, his eyebrows raised.

"Drautos left the Citadel," Noctis tells them, and Gladio's hands tighten on the plates. Ignis, already divested of apron and oven mitts, takes the burden from him and sets it all down on the closest counter. Prompto's heart thumps hard in his throat as he stands. "Clarus had eyes on him in case he made a move like this. He's heading for the south gate. They've closed off the gate, and Dad's got Glaives after him, but--"

"We're closer," Gladio finishes. He's already heading for the front door; Prompto doesn't need to be told to follow. As if they've practiced this, they race for the car together. _Like a pack_ , Prompto has a moment to think before they're all inside.

Normally, Ignis drives like the perfect chauffeur. He obeys the speed limits; he never rolls on a stop sign, nor does he ever fail to come to a complete stop before turning on a red light. Tonight, he acts as if the rules only apply to other people. He screeches the Star of Lucis through a light, nearly slamming into a car turning through the intersection; Gladio, in the front passenger seat, grabs the oh-shit handle and swears. In the back, even though he's got his seatbelt on, Prompto clasps at Noctis's arm.

"Did the king say anything about Drautos's route?" Ignis asks without turning his head back toward the rear seat. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

"No, but I'm getting updates from Nyx," Noctis replies, holding up his phone. "He's heading south on Valefor, they think he's heading into the forest."

"Damn," Gladio mutters. "We're gonna have to go on all fours to track him." The southernmost part of Insomnia, while still contained by the wall, is the only part of the city left undeveloped and wild, virtually untouched. Some of the trees there have been growing for centuries; Prompto vaguely recalls a documentary he watched where botanists theorized the oldest trees dated back to Solheim. Better still, thanks to a large mineral deposit deep in the soil, the GPS on their phones won't work there. 

"But we'll at least have one up on him," Noctis points out. "All the Glaives that Dad sent are all wolves."

Prompto blinks. Noctis gives him a toothy smile; Prompto meets it with one of his own. As far as they know, Drautos isn't a werewolf. He'll still have skills of his own -- and if he's got the armor he wears as General Glauca, he'll pose an even more formidable threat. Still, with at least a dozen or more of the Kingsglaive in wolf form, with their own enhanced strength and sharpened senses, fighting alongside the four of them and Noctis's magical abilities, they stand a good chance.

"How did Drautos find out we were watchin' him?" Gladio grunts as Ignis takes another sharp turn. Tires squeal on concrete and Promptis gets pitched into Noctis's side.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Ignis replies. "He is a very intelligent man. It's highly possible that he discovered he was being watched, especially since Luche is in His Majesty's custody."

"Shouldn't have wasted any time once Luche spilled his guts," Gladio says. 

"We'll have time for reflection later." Ignis takes the highway on-ramp and floors the gas pedal. Prompto catches a glimpse of Ignis's eyes in the rearview mirror before passing lights white out the reflection; they're narrowed, but flashing with delight. Ignis is enjoying this.

Insomnia's a large city; Prompto always knew that. It's one thing to know and another to see it, though. They're passing suburbs and more rural areas, run-down houses and neglected buildings that don't look that dissimilar from the house Prompto grew up in. He really thought they'd be there by now, but more minutes tick by before the forest finally grows large in the windshield. Ignis takes the next exit, and gigantic shadowy trees fill their vision.

Some of the Glaives must already be here; a couple of vehicles have pulled up to the entrance to the forest, which is closed off for the night with a locked gate barring the path. Ignis parks behind them. He's barely cut the engine before they're all getting out of the car; Gladio has shed his boots and jacket already, and now he drops to the ground on all fours and shakes out of loose pants and his unbuttoned shirt. Noctis leaves his jacket in the car; Ignis shakes his head when Prompto starts to take his coat off too.

"Not yet," he says. "We'll let Gladio lead the way for the moment. He can track Drautos." Indeed, Gladio's already got his head up, wet nose searching the air, sampling the smells he gets from the chill wind. After a moment, he nods as if satisfied and then turns amber eyes to the others. He gathers himself and leaps the gate, loping off into the forest; swallowing, Prompto goes after him. Behind them, he hears the squeal of more car tires: the rest of the Glaives aren't far behind them, which is reassuring.

"Cell reception's gone," Noctis says as they jog down the dark path; Prompto sees him stuffing his phone back into a pocket. "We're on our own."

"Not quite." Ignis glances up, then points. A burst of fire sails upward into the sky, far ahead of them, followed distantly by a cry: the few Glaives already present must have found and engaged Drautos. Gladio's dark fur is hard to see, but his scent comes back bright and clear: he's finding a direct route, swift as possible between the ancient trees. As they draw closer, too, the sounds of fighting begin to filter through the heavy foliage: shouts, the clash of metal on metal, the occasional burst of an explosion.

"Should have brought my guns," Prompto mutters. He has no idea how he's going to fight Drautos with no weapons.

Noctis shakes his head. "It's all right. We don't want to kill him, and anyway the Glaives have weapons. We're just here for backup."

A sudden burst of light fills their vision, bright even through the leaves and between the gnarled, ancient tree trunks. The battle's right ahead of them. Gladio, briefly silhouetted in wolf form by the light, howls and leaps into the clearing, and Prompto knows he has no choice but to follow. He's scared; he's never fought another person for real before.

"It's OK," Noctis says. There's no time for more, but at least Prompto has his pack with him. On his other side, Ignis touches Prompto's shoulder, and then they're in the action.

High above them, a figure in bright silver armor drops down out of the sky almost without warning. Prompto can't help a shout of sheer terror when it hits the ground, landing hard: three or four Glaives scatter out of its way. One figure falls and doesn't rise again. Another leaps at Drautos -- Glaucus -- whatever; twin swords flash and a blue sash whips out behind him as Nyx goes for the throat. Somehow, impossibly fast, Drautos evades the slash, dropping off to the side before it connects.

"There's no way," Noctis breathes. "We'll never get him."

"Not while he wears his armor," Ignis observes. "He's virtually invulnerable in it."

"Or while they go after him one on one." Prompto sheds his jacket now, dropping it heedlessly on the forest floor; Noctis, beside him, is doing the same thing, both of them hurrying out of clothes as quickly as possible. 

"You can't attack him--" Ignis's command goes unheeded as Noctis shifts the moment his trousers fall. An instant later, Prompto's fallen into wolf form as well, and the two of them race after Gladio, who's farther down the slope into the clearing. 

It's been a while since Prompto first changed into his wolf shape; these days, it comes to him as easy as breathing. He loves racing around on all fours, the simplicity of the world seen through eyes lower to the ground: even if those eyes only see in black and white, his even sharper sense of smell makes up the difference in spades. The other Glaives have also shifted, and he recognizes Crowe and Libertus by scent, though there's no time for greetings. 

Noctis leads the charge, which feels right somehow. Even if this situation is something they'd never trained for, they've got numbers -- not many more than him, but more on the way -- and heightened awareness and stamina that Drautos can't match. The clearing slopes down to meet a rough cliff, a wall of earth and stone; as Nyx continues to harry Drautos, warping around him and then dashing out of reach, Libertus and Crowe dart in to help drive the silver-clad traitor back toward the wall.

Drautos doesn't seem to realize at first that he's being led. More Glaives have shown up at last; some warp in, staying in human form and using their weapons, while others have shifted to wolf form. Prompto's glad: they've done their job, holding Drautos in place for reinforcements to arrive. With the coordination of earpieces and wolf senses, they move in a constantly distracting pattern, forcing Drautos to keep defending himself against every jab and slice. Then a heel slides back and connects with stone, and Drautos becomes aware of how he's been driven back. He leaps forward, out of the circle of growling wolves and Glaives.

"You can't stop me," his enhanced voice snarls, rough and coarse in Prompto's ears. "You're foolish to try."

Before any of them can attempt another attack, he's doing one of those crazy anime leaps straight up again. This time, though, the arc of his jump is clear: he's not coming back, but aiming for the wall instead.

"I've got eyes on him!" Nyx shouts, the call reverberating through the earpieces of those Glaives who've stayed in human form. Ignis comes running as the rest of them take off; he's finally dropped into wolf-shape as well, the only way he'd be able to keep up with the rest.

 _That was pretty high up, but he can't jump over the wall_ , Prompto thinks even as they all give chase. He's pretty sure of that, anyway. And the King had said they'd sealed off the gates: no exit, no entry. 

Drautos does have the advantage of being able to leap beyond the trees, though, and the rest of them keep up mostly by virtue of werewolf stamina; even so, Prompto's pretty sure he's going to be dead on his feet by the end of this. All at once, solid stone blocks come into view and Prompto barely skids to a halt before slamming into the wall. He's luckier than some others; he hears lupine whines and yelps as a few of the Glaives fail their attempt at braking on soft, mossy ground.

The wall (as opposed to the magical Wall shielding all of Insomnia, or the Old Wall, which has something to do with the kings of old -- Prompto's never been too clear on the way that works) is the geometrically-shaped stone border that protects Insomnia from any invasion by ground forces. It stands a good mile high, and it's at least fifty feet thick, if not more, and dug deep into the earth to prevent any easy access from below. Prompto knows there are checkpoints, too, gates for people to travel in and out of the city, but this is the closest he's been to the outside, and he has a moment to marvel at the sheer size of the thing. When he looks up, he can't even see the top of the wall; it disappears into the darkness of the sky above.

A different sound distracts him out of his thoughts and he turns, startled. A gigantic cracking noise seems to break the night: branches and leaves shake, ancient trees groaning under the weight of Drautos, who leaps from one heavy limb to another. Apparently he's trying to use them as a ladder to get closer to the top of the wall.

There's something much simpler and straightforward about being in wolf form. Prompto doesn't stop to think or contemplate his actions. He just goes for it, racing toward the tree. He's not the only one, either; the entire Glaive group and his own pack have all centered on Drautos now, and as the man attempts to leap up, a Glaive -- startlingly naked and pale -- appears out of nowhere, flying up toward Drautos as if flung by a catapult. 

For once, Drautos is too stunned to react to the assault by newly-shifted-from-wolf-form-Glaive, and the Glaive lands half on Drautos's shoulders and half across his back. They overbalance and then tumble; Drautos tries to shift and turn, but the Glaive is hanging on to him, an arm cinched tight around Drautos's throat. The armor protects him from injury, but he can't shake the Glaive off. They land heavily on wet ground: the Glaive shifts in an instant, back into wolf-form, darting away before Drautos can get a hand on him.

 _This is it_ , Prompto thinks. They won't get another chance. He snarls and pounces. Around him, several other wolf-shaped Glaives do the same, landing hard, claws skittering and marking silver-hued armor. Nyx falls out of nowhere and slams one of his knives down into a shoulder seam, and Drautos cries out, electronically-altered voice rippling into the air and making every wolf in the vicinity whine in pain. Something about the frequency makes Prompto want to dig his paws into his ears.

"Get the helmet!" Nyx screams. He's yanking at it himself, fingers searching frantically for a catch, while Drautos continues to writhe and scream in an attempt to throw off the Glaives dogpiling him. Another Glaive skids to her knees beside Nyx, whipping out a deadly-looking dagger; she slides it into another seam and starts sawing, and Nyx hisses. "Don't _kill_ him!"

"Fuck _that_ noise," she snarls, but the next moment she's got the latch popped. Between her clever fingers and Nyx's strength, they peel the helmet off; it flies away, bouncing to the ground near Noctis's paws. 

There's a collective gasp as Drautos's face is revealed. Though Prompto assumes the Glaives had been informed of their quarry, it's one thing to be told something and another to witness it for themselves. The man they'd trusted as a commander is clad in the armor of an enemy: an enemy who killed the former Oracle and nearly did the same to Regis and Noctis, who has been quietly betraying them all to the Empire for years now.

Drautos continues to struggle even as Nyx and some of the other Glaives continue to peel him out of his armor. Without it, his last line of defense is gone. Finally, the armor has been completely shucked and Nyx and the other woman use strong cord to none-too-gently tie Drautos's hands behind his back. Prompto lets out a whine of relief and moves back at last, sitting down hard on the cold ground. Noctis comes over to him and bumps his head against Prompto's shoulder comfortingly.

They'll have to retrace their steps back to where they left their clothes, and then to the cars, while dragging Drautos along with them. But they did it, Prompto thinks, and he gives Noctis a wolfy smile and stands up again. They caught Drautos and stopped him from making more werewolves -- and doing Astrals knows what else, no doubt feeding all kinds of information back to Niflheim. This is a victory.

* * *

By the time they reach the Citadel, it's after midnight. Drautos has been further restrained with solid handcuffs and ankle-cuffs that allow him to shuffle in short steps only; Regis stands at the head of the steps that lead to the Citadel's main entrance, his face without expression, as he watches his Kingsglaives lead Drautos up to where he stands. 

Drautos stops on the step below Regis and looks up at the king, his eyes burning. Regis remains silent, impassive. His pale blue eyes are cold enough to put out Ifrit's own fires. 

"Say something, damn you," Drautos spits at last.

Regis shakes his head briefly. His chest rises and falls with a careful, slow inhalation. "I should execute you here and now for your treason against Lucis, Insomnia, and my family. For your betrayal of my trust in you. For your endless lies and machinations against the people of Lucis."

A hateful sneer crosses Drautos's face and his chin lifts. "And still you speak as if you have not wrought atrocities of your own. As if your own people would not rebel against you if they knew your truth. I have done nothing I am not proud of. I serve the Empire. With my last breath, I serve Niflheim."

Realization floods Regis's face -- and Clarus's, beside him -- a moment too late. "Stop him!" Regis cries, but Drautos's tongue twists suddenly inside his closed mouth, working at something, before Nyx can free a hand to stop him. He sags between Nyx and Libertus, a puppet whose strings have been abruptly severed. His unexpected weight takes the Glaives by surprise; he falls from their supporting arms and tumbles backwards down a few steps. Cor and Clarus are already racing down to him; Nyx is trying to lift Drautos up, to get fingers into his mouth -- a mouth foaming with something blood-red. Drautos's booted heels drum on the stair, his whole body jerking and twisting, head bouncing obscenely off of Nyx's thigh. Those eyes go glassy and then still.

In the early hours of Solstice morning, Titus Drautos dies with blood on his lips and a smile on his face.

* * *

By the time they reach the manor, Prompto feels nothing but cold. He lets Noctis put an arm around his shoulders and lead him inside and upstairs. Though he's drained of all energy and wants to do nothing more than sleep, he nods when Noctis quietly says they should at least shower first. He allows himself to be led upstairs while Ignis and Gladio head to the kitchen to clean up the dinner that they never got to eat; Ignis made some quiet comment about possibly reheating the roast for a Solstice Day dinner instead, but Prompto can't even think about eating right now.

In the bedroom, he moves on automatic to undress, letting Noctis bundle their dirty clothes into the hamper while he goes into the bathroom to turn the water on as hot as he can stand it. Noctis is right behind him, and Prompto, standing under a sheet of cascading spray, sighs when Noctis's arms wrap around him. 

"I never saw someone die before," Prompto says. "Not in front of me like that. I thought. I thought we won."

Noctis just swallows and reaches for the body wash. "Yeah," he says. "Me too."

Afterwards, dried off and finally warmed through, Prompto tucks himself into Noctis's arms in bed. He thinks he won't be able to sleep, not after what he's seen tonight, but he's out like a light as soon as he closes his eyes.

* * *

The next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake by Noctis, who's looking entirely too bright-eyed and awake for whatever time of the morning it is.

"No," Prompto mumbles, and tries to roll into the warm spot left in the bed by Noctis's absence. His mate, kneeling over him on the bed, just chuckles and tugs on Prompto's shoulder.

"C'mon, babe, it's Solstice morning," Noctis says. "Time to open presents. Iggy's got coffee going, and there's cinnamon rolls."

Distantly, Prompto recalls helping Ignis roll out an incredible length of dough that seemed to take up half the length of the kitchen island yesterday. At the time, Prompto had been more preoccupied with wanting to taste the raw dough, even knowing how bad for him it was. Now the distant smell of sweet cinnamon and glaze wafts up from downstairs. That, more than the prospect of presents or coffee, pulls Prompto up from the covers.

"Lazy ass," Noctis snickers. He gets up from the bed and tugs on Prompto's hand until he slides out of bed as well, hitching up the waistband of the pajama pants he'd tugged on last night before collapsing with Noctis. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, Prompto gives his mate the finger with the other.

Apparently Ignis and Gladio got tired of waiting, or else they've been up for a while, because the pile of presents from the tree has been brought up to the lounge area where Prompto and Noctis usually play video games. Along with said presents, Ignis has a tray with the promised rolls and an urn of coffee, as well as mugs for all four of them. He's the only one who's dressed in normal clothing; Gladio has a pair of Crownsguard sweats on, as well as socks (presumably for keeping his feet warm on the foyer's marble floor), while Noctis and Prompto are both still in pajamas.

"Happy Solstice," Gladio says, as soon as Noctis and Prompto appear; Ignis, pouring coffee, echoes him a moment later.

"How are you awake," Prompto says, and then, "Happy Solstice," almost as an afterthought. He's still exhausted from last night's unexpected exercise. An image of Drautos sprawled on the steps of the Citadel flicks into his mind, and he closes his eyes against it. Gladio's hand closes on Prompto's and tugs gently, and Prompto folds to the sofa, settling heavily against Gladio and accepting the gentle kiss the alpha bestows on him.

"Careful now," and Ignis is pressing a mug into Prompto's hand before offering a kiss of his own. "The coffee's still quite hot."

"Thanks," Prompto murmurs. He cradles the mug in his hands; heavy ceramic, decorated with the insignia of the crown, insulates the heat. He blows on the surface of the coffee but doesn't drink yet; Prompto has yet to really develop a taste for the stuff, and besides, he has no desire to burn his tastebuds off.

His attention is drawn to the television, turned on but with the volume down. A reporter stands outside the main gates of the Citadel: there's a little activity inside, the usual Kingsglaives standing patrol and a few people walking around with business to take care of even on Solstice morning. At the bottom of the screen, a chiron proclaims that the untimely death of Titus Drautos, Captain of the Kingsglaive -- about which the reporter is apparently talking -- has been revealed to be a personal sacrifice in the line of duty.

Noctis's head comes up, too, from where he's kneeling by the stack of presents, apparently searching for one in particular. "Why's that on? Iggy, turn it off."

"My apologies," Ignis says, and takes up the remote control to do so. "I was simply curious as to whether anything about last night would be released to the public today."

"We're not thinking about that right now." Noctis stands, bringing a messily-wrapped gift over to the sofa. He collapses next to Prompto and hands the present over. "Happy Solstice," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Prompto's cheek.

Prompto manages a smile for Noctis. He leans forward and sets the coffee down so that he can open the gift. "Thanks, babe," he says. "You know you already got me the best gift of all, right? I didn't need anything."

Noctis snickers. "Yeah, that's not the point. Go on, open it," he prods, and his smile widens as Prompto finally tears off a significant piece of paper and sees the brand-new Lokton camera inside. It's the newest model, a DSLR, with all the fancy bits and bobs he could never afford: a huge directional flash, long-distance lens, extra SD cards and batteries--

"Noct," he gasps, and nearly drops the box as he flings his arms around a beaming Noctis, peppering his mate's face with kisses. "Holy shit, Noct, it's perfect, _thank you--_ "

* * *

Later on, after the pile of discarded wrapping paper has been gathered up (Noct loved the tackle box, and Ignis his new set of driving gloves, while the series of fantasy novels Prompto had found for Gladio turned out to be perfect) and Prompto has eaten one too many cinnamon rolls, he sprawls on the sofa to play with the settings of his new camera. When Noctis's phone goes off, they all look up in surprise; Regis had made it clear he was leaving them alone for their first Solstice as a pack, and no one else would be likely to call on this particular morning.

Noctis picks up the phone anyway, taking his finger out of his mouth (he'd already started reorganizing his old tackle box and pricked several fingers on sharp fishhooks) to answer the phone: "Dad?"

His face goes expressionless as his father speaks, and Prompto looks up from the camera, scenting the change in Noctis's mood. While he knows there are still loose ends to be tied up with Drautos's death, Prompto wasn't expecting anything to be done today. It's a national holiday, after all, a day when everyone's supposed to be at home with their family, their loved ones.

Finally, Noctis nods, then says, "I understand. I'll tell the others." A pause, then, "Happy Solstice," and, "I love you too." He ends the call, then looks around, heavy-eyed, at his pack.

"What was that about?" Prompto asks.

Noctis's throat works, his eyes turning to his mate. "You're getting your wish, Prom. We're going to Niflheim."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's become clear as I was plotting this fic that more will have to happen, which is why this ends the way it does. I have no timeline for when I'll be starting the next and final fic in the series, but it will happen. Eventually. I just need to take a little break from this series, which, while I love writing it, has grown all out of proportion to what I initially planned. 
> 
> Again, I want to thank everyone who took the time to read, to my loyal commenters, and most of all to Arumattie for providing me with helpful insights, getting me out of sticky plot situations, and responding to my frantic texts at all hours of the day. You are the best. <3


End file.
